


What Magic Can Do

by Missy



Category: Army of Darkness (1992), Evil Dead (Movies), Evil Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Angels, Demons, Drama, F/M, Humor, Reincarnation, Romance, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-16
Updated: 2011-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-14 20:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time, he said the words right...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tether

_“He tucked in his shirt – he stood a little bit straighter. We need a few less words, dear. We need a few more guns.”_ \- Amy Ray, Tether

***

 _It had been harder to climb twelve flights up than to stand before the mass of demonic figures alone and without blinking, sawed-off shotgun in one hand, book in the other._

Easier now than it had ever been. Even with cameras tracking him on the street below, the onlookers waiting for him to seal their doom.

His real hand held the book – his eyes zeroed in on the words. Water soaked through his sneakers and he didn’t bother to look down. He stood in the middle of a rooftop garden, a little wooden windmill turning up a falsified brook, a miniature stone castle visible through the weeds. He felt something fleshy squash beneath his sneaker – an overwatered daisy, a mushroom, Deadite flesh.

A roar bounced off the buildings and rooftops – something about souls being swallowed, something about rotting in hell. Same shit. He could do this.

He stopped thinking about himself and started saving the world.

***

“Hey, it’s Ash…”

“…And Linda…”

“Leave your message after the…”

*BEEP*

“Mr. Williams, this is Sarah Mitchell from the Michigan State University accounting department. Our records show your case is currently in arrears for over a hundred thousand dollars. If your debt remains unpaid, you will be ineligible to take your finals. Please contact account receivables at one…”

*BEEP*

“Hello, this Mark Gloss, an associate producer for Scandal TV looking for Ashley J. Williams. We’re doing a report on the aftermath of the Deadite crisis and we’re hoping for an exclusive deal to broadcast an interview with the man himself. Call us back and we’ll negotiate. Hail to the…”

*BEEP*

“Hey Ash? It’s Louie from work, man. Pick up. You there? Dude! DUUUDE?”

*BEEP!*

“Ash? This is Debbie from last night. Um, I think I left my panties at your place. You can throw them away if they turn up. Thanks! Bye!”

*BEEP*

“DUDE? DUDE! Stop feelin’ sorry for yourself! Linda was an awesome chick and we’ll all miss her, but life is short, and you’re missin’ the feeee est aa….”

*BEEP*

“ASHLEY. This is your MOTHER. Are you WATCHING THE NEWS, HONEY? Your father just killed the last one over here and we’re fine. We all know YOU’RE fine but you NEVER CALL. SO CALL US, FOR CORN’S SAKE!”

*BEEP*

“Ash, this is Linda’s mother. We met once, at church, remember? I’m stopping by on Saturday to get her things. The funeral is next Monday, and we hope you’ll come. Honey, if what…happened…is what’s holding you back, I want you to know we don’t blame you. We know it was…them. If you need anything, you can call us. The number’s in Linda’s address book. Bye.”

*BEEP*

“Ash, your sister died on Friday. The service is next week. Call your mother. She’s worried about you.”

*BEEP*

“Uh, dude – I was just thinking. You know how you told me you screwed up and started this whole undead killer zombie thing? I was just freakin’ out to some Tallica and I was wondering if you really said the words right this time. OH DUDE, THIS BRIDGE IS KILLER, HOLD ON, I GOTTA JAM…..”

With that, Ashley J. Williams – savior, killer of the undead, wage slave, and pestered human being – yanked the chord attaching his answering machine free from the phone and silenced it.

He tried to gather his scattered, minimal thoughts together, avoiding true reflection and – with it - memory. “Louie,” he muttered to himself, dropping the wires. “I’m gonna kill that asshole one day.” Or he could just start avoiding automotives, where the college junior worked and bragged to every customer that came in that he was ‘totally friends with that guy who stopped the zombies.”

They weren’t actually friends. The kid just listened to his stories without rolling his eyes, and to Ash, at this point in his life, that was an invaluable quality.

Louie’s attention was better, generally, than that of the public, who had a tendency to stop by housewares and gawk at him. Ash liked the money he got from the tee shirts they sold to them under the counter, but a little respect from his adoring public would have been nice. Not that they were too hard to handle; a sharp quip usually turned them away, but the feeling of being in a fishbowl remained. It made him remember what it felt like, the day they’d tried to throw him in the pit.

Ash tried not to think of the pit, or of England, or of her, but his mother always said that he had no impulse control. He’d proved her right; a week ago he had driven to Lansing in his brand-new presented-to-him-by-the-state-for-heroism Bravada. An afternoon of searching through the rare book room at the Library of Michigan yielded up no record. But there was one sentence in one centuries-old, dry as toast chronicle of England, of the castle, of Duke Henry, and of the epidemic that had decimated the English stronghold he had tried so hard to defend. It had been enough to piss him off, just enough to ready him for the next wave of Deadites when they appeared.

The solution had been found by luck – snagged from a passerby on the street. He was vaguely reminded that he should do something with the slim volume of magical incantations that lay face-down on his coffee table – hide it, at least. The owner wasn’t going to turn up, and since she had called him a ‘fucking asshole’ the last time they met he doubted she wanted to see him again.

None of it was important – he’d said the words right this time. He knew he had because it had been a full week since the last sighting of the undead anywhere in the world. Thanks to that – it bore repeating - he was The Man. The Savior. The guy who made fifty bucks a day in tee shirt sales. He could have anything he wanted.

But he wasn’t doing or getting anything at the moment. Instead, Ash was standing there, alone, in an apartment that still looked like hell despite Linda’s year of non-stop maintenance and elbow grease, starting at the severed wires in his grip and wondering how he was going to handle meeting again the apologetic mother of his dead girlfriend. The mother of the woman he’d decapitated to save his own ass.

He side-stepped it all, mentally and emotionally. “Might as well find Debbie Whateverthefuck’s underwear.” With that, he was on his way to the bedroom.

***

Ash knelt by the bed and combed through the small pile of detritus that had formed a mountain beside his bed – there were mountains of candy wrappers and an empty bag of Cheetohs. No panties in sight.

Only in his life could something as wonderful as getting laid become problematic. A revelation that naturally turned his thoughts back to her.

No, he wasn’t going back to that morning, the look in her eyes when she watched him ride away. They had both agreed that it was right for him to go, for her to stay – they needed her at the keep, and they had needed him here. He was glad that he hadn’t killed her, and she was glad for the memory of the roaring fire and his touch. That was it. The end. Period.

He could stop thinking about her any time now.

Well, he wouldn’t any more. He didn’t need to, because his life – what was left of it – could keep on trucking along as it always had. Because? This time? He hadn’t screwed up. Sure, it was an old Celtic incantation. All in Gaelic. But someone had thoughtfully scribbled a pronunciation guide right next to the spell, so how could he have messed it up? So what if the Olde English phrasing had clung to his tongue and made him sound like a man with a lump of bread stuck in his throat? The Deadites were gone. He’d done his job.

That was his last thought before a porthole opened over his bed, turning the room a shade of blue that would soothe any normal person. Ash, not being a normal person, had his rifle trained on the blue-shrouded lump on his bed the second it flopped unceremoniously through the quickly-shut dimensional porthole.

“Let’s make this short and sweet.” He told the lump on his mattress. “Me, guy with gun. You, dead slimy thing,” he rested his finger against the trigger. “Guess who’s gonna win?”

It was then that the lump moved – pale skin came into view, dark red hair – dark eyes. It had a voice. “I pray thee, do not fire!”

He lowered the gun. “Sheila?” In a second, she was off the bed, rushing toward him and making him drop the gun.

The hug he got was almost worth the resultant broken window.


	2. Beauty to Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback and a revelation.

“I never felt so helpless. Except the night we made love.” – Amy Ray, Beauty to Disaster

***

It took awhile for logic to creep back into the room; Ash was content for a little while to let the minutes drip by as Sheila rested against his chest, her head snuggled against his collarbone.

“Ash,” she finally murmured, running her fingers across his arm. He suddenly remembered who he was with, and what else could fall out of dimensional portholes, and led her away from the bed.

He was somewhat astonished to find Sheila completely unchanged – she had the same stubborn lift to her chin, the same wounded dark eyes. The average man would fall to his knees and cry his delight. Ash’s response came bluntly instead. “How the hell did you get here?”

He sounded less angry than bewildered, and so Sheila’s response was humble. “I know not, my lord.” She separated her body from his and looked up.

Ash’s manners picked this odd time to kick in. “Sit down,” he requested, maneuvering her toward a chair – he knocked a couple of old pizza boxes to the floor and sat her before his dresser. “What do you remember?”

She shook her head. “Nothing of the fall itself. The days have blended into the nights so closely that I hardly remember the hour.” He remained silent – she shifted in her seat, continuing. “Hath been in the company of our Wise Man since the Solstice. He had been under orders from Arthur to protect me and keep me from going down to the great hall; we were the last ones left whole by the epidemics.” Ash gave her an odd look, so Sheila clarified, “we have seen times most troubling since ye left. In the span of a year, our fruit trees died of canker worm, and the corn turned blue in its husk and made the elderly sick – the sows died of starvation when the legume fields burned in a thunderstorm. There wasn’t enough food put up for the future – ye know of the distraction that befell us – and so when the weather turned our peasants left for stronger holdings. The snows arrived, and with it illness to claim the last able-bodied souls. ‘Twas the pox, and lately the white throat.” She lowered her eyes.

Ash felt a small twinge of regret – he knew all about it from his research, but hearing it in detail proved affecting. He remained quiet, knowing Sheila needed the silence to best express herself.

Her voice continued along solemnly, “what little food remaining had been split between myself and the wiseman. Arthur insisted we must survive, at all costs, at the cost of himself – he was buried Monday last after falling in defense of the grain stores, and they wouldn’t let me see him shrived. We were saying a paternoster for his soul when the light took me.” She swallowed heavily at the end of her long speech. “Art so tired...”

Simple requests were the easiest for Ash to handle, so he nodded. “You can sleep here,” he pointed out the bed behind them and helped Sheila to her to her feet. “I’m sorry. Arthur was a nice guy, he didn’t deserve to die that way.” It’s always easier to be sincere when you don’t have to look the person you’re addressing in the eye, and Ash’s declaration was delivered, quite sweetly, to Shelia’s hair.

“His death was a warrior’s death. My maid Elpsbeth burned of the pox – I watched her fail slowly over a week.” She cleared her throat and captured his gaze again. “Arthur never forgot that you saved the keep. We spoke of you often.”

Ash’s ego swelled and he smirked down at her. “Tell me something new, baby. I hear every day I’m hard to forget.”

An odd look crossed her face. “’Tis a new feeling for me. Do strange man fall from the sky and change the world often in your America?”

“Nah. But it’s a habit with me,” he told her, and, as he turned down the bed, explained what had happened over the past three weeks. Sheila listened to his story in silence, on occasional gasp or murmur of disbelief his sole accompaniment.

Once Ash finally finished speaking, Sheila remarked, “la sir.”

Ash secretly expected a more generous response, but he turned to find her wide-eyed with surprise. “Anyway, I said the words, and the Deadites disappeared.”

“Were they the right ones?”

He eyes her up-and-down grimly. “I thought so, yeah.”

She picked up his mood instantly – her brow furrowed. “Dost thou require my aid?”

“Nah.” He finished preparing the bed without thinking twice, and with surprising speed. Ash shrugged, patted the mattress. “You can stay with me ‘til we find out what’s going on.” Sheila obediently rested on the soft mattress, lying stiffly against the softness. “Take your clothes off now. I won’t watch…much.”

She flushed, grabbing the blanket and pulling it to her neck. “’Tis more comfortable than the hay loft.”

Ash couldn’t help but grin – the hay loft was his favorite Sheila-related memory. “But worse than the furs?”

She smiled – the furs were evidently her favorite Ash-related memory. “T’would be comfortable anywhere if ye would lie beside me.”

He made no remark, turned toward the window. A little digging through the refuse produced a reel of duct tape, which he used to cover the recently-made bullet hole. “That should hold for awhile,” he informed her, then walked to the door. “I’m gonna go bunk on the couch.”

She clearly had no idea what ‘bunking’ was, but didn’t like that he was leaving. “You shan’t stay here?”

He smirked at her. “Lady, I need to get up at six. That means I need sleep.” He pecked her on the forehead. “And when we’re in the same bed, I don’t.”

When Ash was alone, making an uncomfortable bed with spare blankets and lumpy old pillows on the couch, he wondered what the hell he was going to do with that woman. It had never been very easy for them, not even that first night…

***

 _“My lord, ye weigh a tun.”_

 _It wasn’t the most flattering post-coital comment he’d ever heard, but it would do for small talk. Grunting, Ash rolled over and curled up beside the young woman he’d just finished screwing, the fire blazing hot against his back._

 _He peered at her askance; she lay silent against the wolf fur, her hair spread out and tangled, her eyes shut tight – holding on to the moment or trying to forget it? He decided to break the ice._

 _“You okay?”_

 _Her eyes popped open and met his, and then she turned away and tried to scramble off the fur. This proved an impossible task – Ash had rolled over onto her hair. At her own pain, she gave up the struggle, and Ash just watched, smirking and not at all confused about what had just taken place between them._

 _She lay panting for the longest time, her look one of pure confusion. Ash was too busy staring at her rapidly heaving breasts to care much for her emotional state, and when she finally noticed the direction of his gaze she let out a soft gasp and glared up at him, delivering a quick, hard slap to his cheek. That got Ash to move, though he let out a tiny “aww” of disappointment and she frowned at his directness. “Thou art a bold wretch.”_

 _He yawned and scratched at the cut on his cheek. “You liked it a couple of minutes ago.”_

 _Her mouth opened. “I…”_

 _He grinned. “You loved the hell out of it. My back’s gonna be sore for a week,” he turned over to show her the scratches she’d left behind. “See?”_

 _She touched his skin – carefully – and he winced. The marks she’d left were the least of his problems – he was covered in bruises, at least one of them left behind by the earthward course of the rock she’d pitched at his head. “Shall I salve them?”_

 _Ash smirked again, happy she couldn’t see his face. “Yeah.”_

 _He heard her leave the furs and pad her way across the room. This gave Ash a chance to sneak a couple of peeks at her body as she busied herself with a tincture jar at the other end of the room. Not a bad view; the girl’s tits were fabulous, but her ass was flawless. Had he been a thinking man, Ash would have wondered at what had drawn them together so forcefully – instead, he enjoyed the play of the fire on her pale skin. She turned, her hands full, and gasped again as she realized how thoroughly he had taken liberty with her form. She hid herself uselessly behind the tiny jar._

 _“Baby,” he said idly, “don’t even bother to hide ‘em. They’re perfect.”_

 _The girl let out a huffy sigh, crossed the room, and sat cross-legged beside him. “Turn over,” she ordered, and Ash obeyed._

 _He felt the chill of the air, the warmth of her hand, and the mild sting of the cream as she rubbed into his skin. “Thou looks to have been through the torments of hell,” she murmured._

 _“You don’t know the half of it,” he snorted._

 _“Perhaps I have.”_

 _He shot her an incredulous look over his shoulder. “I don’t think your sob story can compare to mine.”_

 _Her chin tightened. “My mother died of childbed fever when I was three. My father then married an odious woman who dallied with court musicians and frittered away his holding – she ran away with a petty nobleman several fortnights ago, leaving my father to die of a broken heart. Two of my brothers died in border wars with the Scots, another of the pox. Bereft, we have lived in my Cousin Arthur’s keep these past three score as poor relations. He cared enough for me to arrange a betrothal to Henry, to ensure my safety and to solidify our peace with the neighboring lairds. As of late, Henry has refused to pay my bride price - simultaneously, these foul creatures have arrived. Thus we’ve been at war; the raiding has only strained matters more, increased the share of blame between our people. All of this I could bear, for at least I had my dear Lucian nearby.”_

 _His brow quirked and he glanced over his shoulder at her. “Old boyfriend?”_

 _She glared at him. “I am no common trull. And I was a clean maid ‘til you cast your hands upon me.” Ash felt a twinge of guilt and had the grace to appear ashamed, though secretly he was elated at having popped her cherry. “Lucian, my dearest brother. We lost him in battle only days hence. I thought thee his murderer.”_

 _His face fell. NOW he felt like shit – and her erratic behavior seemed understandable. “I didn’t kill him.”_

 _“I know. But I should be mourning for his soul…” She brushed her fingers over the back of his neck. “…and not dallying with thee.” She turned from him and closed the lid of and cast aside the tincture jar. Perhaps so he wouldn’t be mad with her, she added, “I shall not cry rape, sir. I gave of myself willingly this eve. Thou art The Promised One, and for ye I will do all I can, if you but ask.”_

 _Ash knew just what to wish for, but he didn’t want another slap. Being no poet, he turned over and stroked the side of her face. “You’ve done enough, beautiful.”_

 _The endearment made her skin glow. She moved closer to seek comfort in his arms, then suddenly sat rigidly beside him. “Oh! I forgot…” To his surprise, she climbed to her knees and began to speak in a strange tongue._

 _He eyed her, afraid she might suddenly begin to hover in the air between them. “What the hell are you doing?”_

 _She fixed her chilly gaze upon him. “’Tis called prayer, my Lord. I’m saying a rosary for my soul, and a paternoster each for my brothers, mother and father. I do so every evening…” Her eyes wandered down from his own to his body, then her gaze situated between his legs for the longest time._

 _Ash smirked at her, tucking both arms beneath his head to give her a good look at the full scope of his body. The dame did wonders for his already overstuffed ego._

 _She met his too-pleased expression, turned bright red, folded her hands, and concluded, “I shall include an Our Father. That should cover the multitude of my sins.”_

 _“I like it when you blush,” he informed her lazily, but she had begun her prayer again. Ash went tactfully silent and allowed her to finish. Funny that he didn’t feel the need to join her - the sex had already purged him of much of his anger, and had made him feel human for the first time in days. Upon finishing, she crawled beneath the furs with him, resting her tangled head upon his chest. Ash could, despite all he’d done to tease her out of her guilt, still feel her tension. “What we did wasn’t a sin,” he finally said._

 _She exploded at him. “I have lain with a man I do not know, and cheated Henry…”_

 _“Of what? Washing your blood out of his sheets?” Ash snorted derisively._

 _“But Henry…”_

 _“If Henry loves you he’ll forgive you. A girl can do the strangest shit to a guy sometimes, and if he loves her, he’ll let it go. ” Images of Linda flashed through his mind. The slip of a girl on top of him would never understand that he spoke from personal experience._

 _She shook her head. “I do not believe Henry loves me. And Henry is not my love.” The finality of her tone sealed the question, as did the way she watched him. He was reminded, unsettlingly, of his first stroke of puppy love back in elementary school and felt a flood of gratefulness as he recalled that soon he would be gone. “Thou art sweet,” she declared, resting against his chest again. “You spoke of a…girl?”_

 _Ash knew it was pointless to keep the truth from her, and so it all came out – Linda, the cabin, the tempest. He lay shivering, just a little, by the time he was finished, and her hands were upon him._

 _“You truly are a strong, fine warrior. You shall save us,” she smiled, “I believe it now.”_

 _The hope in her eyes made him feel small and petty, because in his heart all he wanted was to go back home and pretend none of this had ever happened. “Lady...”_

 _“Tis a fine thing you’ve come here,” she said. “Be glad of it.”_

 _He bit back a sour remark. “I’m not gonna be around much longer, so don’t get used to it.” Her lip rounded, just slightly. “Don’t look so down, baby.”_

 _She lifted her chin haughtily. “I tire of you calling me ‘baby’,” she replied. “I have a name.”_

 _“Yeah, you do!” Ash laughed nervously, trying to remember it. “whatta name you…have.”_

 _She picked up his discomfort and sighed. “I did not tell you it.” He realized that she was waiting for an introduction._

 _Feeling a little ridiculous, he extended his left hand. “Ash. Ash Williams.”_

 _She stared at it, shrugged, leaned over and kissed the back of his hand. He stared blankly at her, confused by the odd custom. “Ash. **ASH. ASH.** It dosnae suit thee,” she shook her head. “It speaks of death. Ashes. Burnt offerings. I do not like it.”_

 _“It’s a nickname,” he said._

 _“La?” she wondered. “Then what is thy name?”_

 _He winced. “Ashley.”_

 _She smiled brilliantly. “Why,’tis a lovely one! I had a pony by the same moniker as a child.” He groaned – she smiled and traced the shape of his lips with her finger. “Where did ye learn to kiss, m’lord?”_

 _“Michigan,” he blurted honestly._

 _“Me-che-gen,” she sounded out. “Is that beyond Innismouth?”_

 _“Yeah,” he grunted._

 _“How oft have ye kissed?” He went silent. “M’lord?”_

 _“I’m counting.”_

 _“Oh,” she replied. Her intense, solemn gaze made him feel like a bit of a jerk as he stretched the silence out._

 _“Fifty million,” he decided randomly. Her eyes widened, her shock giving him the leverage he needed to push her onto her back. “Fifty million and one,” he added, kissing her neck. “Fifty million and two….” he mumbled against her left breast._

 _He peered down at her, expecting another slap. Her expression showed such puzzlement that he laughed aloud and went about the business of arousing her all over again. In a few minutes, when her eyes were steamy and unfocused and her mouth had fallen open, he spoke again. “You didn’t tell me your name.”_

 _“Hmm?” she couldn’t seem to speak._

 _He nibbled her right breast. “Your name.”_

 _“Oh. Sheila Mary Susanna…” she began, then cut herself off with a gasp, “Pendragon!”_

 _“Sheila,” he weighed her name on his tongue. “Pretty name for a pretty lady.”_

 _She flushed, her palms open upon his chest. “Sweet one,” she murmured against his neck, sliding her fingers through his hair._

 _“I’m not sweet.”_

 _“Art to me.”_

 _More amused than flattered, he cupped her cheek and tilted her head toward him. “I think it’s time to teach you a lesson.”_

 _Sheila looked up at him, pride in her eyes. “What do ye presume to teach me?”_

 _He smirked, rolled her over – Sheila ended up straddling his waist, just far enough from the fire to keep them safe and close enough to keep them warm. “How to ride.”_

 _She tossed her hair, and it spilt around them, over his face and into his mouth. He stared up at her, enthralled. “I already know how to ride,” she boasted._

 _“But with me, beautiful,” he grinned, a shift of his hand changing her expression from haughty repose to involved, open sensuality, “you don’t need a saddle.” He shifted his hips and heard her surprised gasp as he thrust upward and into her. She stared down at him – he smirked up at her._

 _“Fifty million and three,” he declared, pulling her down for a kiss._

****

Ash grinned like an idiot into the darkness. Damned if she couldn’t make him smile, even when they weren’t together. That she’d made his life more complicated and that he should resent her for bringing a resurgence of the unexplained emotions he bore and had shoved into the back of his mind, didn’t stop him from falling almost instantly into a blessedly dream-free sleep.

The morning was less peaceful. But then, being woken up at six in the morning to the sound of someone puking could never be called a pleasant event.

He found her still in his bedroom, retching weakly into the wastebasket. The mortification written all over her face when he entered the room made him stick close to the doorframe.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, more gruffly than he intended.

She coughed softly, put the can on the floor, then blotted her lips with a white handkerchief. “’Tis nothing.

He advanced into the room. “Is this part of that white throat thing? Do you need a doctor?”

She shook her head. “I’ve gotten quite accustomed to losing my belly now and again. My nursemaid Gladdys has…had…known me since I was a tot. She explained that it would…” she quieted suddenly and he instinctively moved further from her, in case she lost it again. “I shan’t trouble thee with my infirmities.”

“Hey, we’re friends,” he said. “I don’t want you to suffer.” He winced, just slightly, remembering how he had made her suffer, though it wasn’t the ‘real’ Sheila he’d flung off the castle tower.

She saw through his pretenses. “I’m quite acclimated to it, as I seem to sicken at my body’s fancy, prime or pence.” She snorted bitterly. “Tis a fine name for it. Morning sickness.” She let out a little gasp and turned cloud-white as the truth slipped out. Her usual unflappable self took over. “I’m to bring forth a child in the autumn. I…believe it was the evening of your victory. The hayloft.”

He wasn’t breathing. She was still talking. “Hath done all possible things to keep the child of the Promised One safe.” She said. “’tis why I was cloistered. Why my marriage to Henry was delayed…Arthur wished to put forth the illusion of a handfasting between us, but all knew the child was..is..thine. I was well feted for it. Our Wise Man divined his future, and told me he might be a great warrior one day.” Ash had frozen before her, too stunned to put a sentence together. She looked up and the joy on her face died away; she could read his emotions in his expression, and he had not the guile to fake his feelings. That she might be waiting for a morsel of comfort obviously didn’t occur to him.

“Ash?”

The sound of his name on her lips made the world shoot back into focus. He stopped blinking and looked at her – sitting still in her blue dress, hands together in her lap. A lady in every sense of the word.

“I’m never to see home again.” It was a statement. “I have but the babe. Shall ye take him from me?”

He managed to shake his head, knowing he could never hurt her that way.

“I shall leave once I find lodging,” she told him.

He looked up, scoffing. “You don’t know how to…”

“I will learn,” she informed him. Her white-lined fingers took the wastebasket and clutched it to her bosom. “Go. Thou wilst be late.”

“Stay here,” he requested of her, but she didn’t seem to hear him anymore. Her words echoing in his head, he turned and left the room, headed off to work as if it were an ordinary day.


	3. I Don't Even Know Your Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheila meets Linda's mother; Ash strikes a deal with Louie to get Sheila officially documented.

“This guy is persistent…he's a little bit dumb but at least he's consistent’.” - Emily Saliers, I Don’t Even Know Your Name

***

 _Ka-tung, ka-tung, KA-TUNG._

“Dude?”

His jaw tightened – Louie, again. “Whattya want?”

As usual, he didn’t pick up on Ash’s hostility. “You’ve been markin’ down those blenders for an eon, man.” Louie laughed, leaning casually against the iron shelving unit. He squinted at the row of product. “Five for five-fifty?! Old man Smart’s gonna shit a brick!”

Ash blinked, looked at the row of blenders, groaned and adjusted his price gun. A low-muttered curse accompanied his fiddling. “What do you need?”

“Nothin’ – I just wanted to hang…” Ash glared up at the kid – at sun-bronzed Louie, who had a pencil mustache and greasy long red hair with streaks of green woven through it. His loose-limbed stance spoke of an extensive potsmoking habit and a childhood in a commune, a perpetually cheery look gleaming in his green eyes – as if anything that could happen to him in life was but a colossal joke. Ash still remembered his reaction to the general chaos of the Deadite attacks: “dude! This is just like a Pantera album!”. As if he could read Ash’s thoughts, Louie ventured, “so, I was grooving on ‘Master of Puppets’ last night…”

Ash’s temper snapped – NOT Metallica, NOT now. The pricing gun hit the shelving unit hard enough to make Louie feel the impact from his position further up the aisle. “If you don’t have anything to say to me, go back to automotives.” He added more kindly, because he didn’t want to lose his only audience, “Murph’s gonna ream you out for leaving your post.”

Louie shrugged at Ash’s order. “We’ve only got one job on the lift, man, and Murph won’t let me do tire rotations anymore.” Louie shrugged. “You forget to screw in ONE lugnut and you’re paying for the rest of your life.” Ash released a long, deep sigh, turning back to the mountain of blenders. Louie finally picked up what he would term ‘the bad vibes’. “Well…I guess I’ma gonna go bug Meg in health and beauty – I’m totes going kneeboarding on Lake Mich this weekend and I ain’t going solo.”

Ash felt fully prepared to bid Louie goodbye – but then he remembered Sheila, her need of documentation, and the fact that Louie practically worshipped him. He quickly weighed the odds of Louie knowing someone who knew someone who made fake IDs and decided to leap into the breach. “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Louie’s face lit up. “Whatever the King wants!”

Ash grunted at the obsequious in Louie’s voice. He quickly stood up, moved a little closer to him, and said quietly, “you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

Louie’s eyes widened solemnly and then he nodded his head.

“Remember Sheila? The chick from my story?” Louie nodded again. “She’s here.” Louie’s reaction was the pure opposite of cool – his jaw dropped open and, though he kept his head perfectly still, his eyes spun rapidly from left to right. Ash’s metal hand clasped down painfully on his shoulder. “Not in the store, dumbass!”

Louie’s features slackened, then brighten. “Wicked!” A significant pause. “How did that happen?!”

Ash rolled his eyes. “Vortex. She’s stuck here.” He shot a quick look over his left shoulder, then whispered, “we don’t know how to get her home. And she’s pregnant.”

Louie’s jaw dropped, then he cracked a grin, slapping Ash a little too hard on the shoulder. “Congradulmundo!”

Ash snarled. “Yeah, fine. Look, I need to get her on my insurance, and I can’t do that without a social and birth certificate…”

“Oh!” Louie nodded wisely, then frowned. “Our crappy insurance? I don’t think it’d cover a papercut…”

“Fourteenth century chick,” Ash reminded him brusquely. “She’ll need them to get into the hospital, anyway.” He leveled his gaze firmly at Louie. “D’you trust me to deliver a baby?”

“Good point. Okay…” he whispered. “Follow me to the photo lab. Pearl can hook you up.”

Ash wondered to himself why he hadn’t thought of Pearl first – it was rumored she ran a counterfeit ID business out of her basement, but he’d never cared enough to figure out if it was true. “Fine. You tell NO ONE about this, understand?”

Louie nodded quite smartly, ‘nonchalantly’ strolling away from housewares, and then Ash busied himself for a five carefully-counted minutes before following him.

 

***

Sheila secretly believed she was acclimating herself well to the twenty-first century. Every few minute she jumped back in wonder-filled alarm, but the shocks were becoming less heart-stopping the more she understood.

Curled on Ash’s sofa, reeling with morning sickness, daytime television and its many commercials gave her an education.

That was how she managed to figure out that water could run from the walls at her command, and turn hot without a cauldron. That the chamber pot was self-cleaning, and she wasn’t required to strain her back heaving buckets of bilge out of the open windows (she would have to appologize to Ash’s downstairs neighbors). That flicking a dial on an appliance could clean her clothing or heat her food (because she couldn’t read modern English or understand the western concept of time, these two things were currently an impossible tasks).

She learned quite a bit about how twentieth-century women acted as well – or, at least, how they acted on Ash’s tiny black and white tv. The women were all gorgeous, perpetually happy, and always at the service of their befuddled husbands. Sheila decided to make every effort to please Ash the same way – as ‘Lucy’ did for ‘Ricky’, and as a noble lady trained in housekeeping should for her Lord.

She started by simply cleaning the apartment.

Sheila had been trained to anticipate a different sort of mess than the one that greeted her. There were no rushes to brush away, no medicines to brew, no harvest to put up. She wanted to brew a cask of small beer, but Ash’s apartment bore no evidence of containing a distillery. Instead, she followed the leads of June and Lucy, and tries to clean it all “the modern way”.

That proved to be a surprisingly easy task – the grime seemed to lay purely on the surface. Three months’ dirty dishes were washed and lined in the drying rack; bedsheets were changed; floors were swept up, and piles of garbage were tossed away into trashbags. The feminine touches hiding beneath piles of wrappers, pizza boxes and dust begin to appear.

Linda’s touches.

A palm-sized portrait, framed in gold, stood on a bookshelf filled with videocassettes. Finished with her dusting, Sheila picked it up very carefully, aware of the dangerous electricity of prowling through Ash’s private memories. A beautiful redhead smiled back at her, her eyes alight with happiness, her arms wrapped around the waist of her beloved.

Sheila stared endlessly at this particular image of Ash. His smile – wide, silly – was the sort she’d never seen him wear. It made her put the picture in a more prominent place where it wasn’t likely to be crushed by Ash’s collection of Three Stooges tapes and step backward, surprised by the power incarnated by their old love.

 _He loved her,_ she realized suddenly, her fingers twisting against her skirt. Harshly, she reminded herself, _and this ye knew. ‘Tis your cross to carry._ She remembered Ash’s story and reminded herself, _he slaughtered her. His cross art far heavier than thine._

The buzzing of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts – she followed the sound to the front door and pressed the bright red button beside a manila-colored loudspeaker.

“Hello?” a voice crackled through. “Ash? Are you home?”

It was a woman’s voice, but it didn’t belong to a maiden, or a crone – a mother, then. Sheila tried vainly to sound like a modern woman. “He be- is at work. Who seeks him?”

A pause. “I’m sorry, I’m looking for Ashley J. Williams.”

Sheila said tentatively, “This is his home.”

The voice plunged ahead, speaking as if a flock of rabid dogs were nipping her heels. “This is Linda Klein’s mother, and I’m here to collect her things. I told him I’d stop by on another date, but I couldn’t wait another moment.” A small, laugh that verged on a sob emerged. “Just want to get it out of the way…”

Sheila’s heart leapt into her throat. “I-I’m Ash’s….sister,” she lied. Then, with a great deal of bravery, she added, “come in.”

***

When Ash arrived at the photo lab’s darkroom, Louie wasn’t in sight. Unfortunately, Pearl was. The older woman – sturdy of build, sharp-eyed, with a rounded form and deep brown skin – watched him critically. “Hello, Williams,” she said curtly, in her deeply voiced church lady tone.

Ash cracked a smile, straining for friendliness. “Hey, Pearl…” he leaned in conspiratorially. “Louie sent me.”

She glanced at him over the top of her glasses. “Close the door.” He did so. She approached and whispered in a sotto voice, “twenty-five for an ID, fifty for a driver’s license.”

Ash narrowed his eyes. “Do you do social security cards?”

She glared at him. “Why the hell would you need a soc? What kinda trouble are you in?”

“S’not him, Pearl – ‘shis lady!” Both Ash and Pearl jumped as Louie bopped up behind a rack of pictures, a Slim Jim clasped in his left hand.

“Lady?” Pearl asked, amusement obvious in her voice.

“Yep!” He slapped Ash on the back, earning himself an icy glare. “The King needs help for his woman.”

Pearl smirked. “Flouting the law in the name of a girl – why am I not at all surprised?”

Ash merely rolled his eyes, but Louie took it upon himself to be offended. “The King has his reasons. She’s for totes special! She’s gonna make him a daddy!”

Pearl’s even-handed response was delivered in a deadpan tone. “Who’s the lucky mother – the redhead who quit the Pet Center when you dumped her or the girl from electronics who tried to run you over last week?”

If she expected an answer from the rather hostile Ash, she wasn’t going to get one. “No, man! It’s…” An elbow to the midsection silenced Louie.

“Stick your attitude up your ass, lady,” he snapped.

Pearl snorted. “And I used to like you…” she turned toward her computer and began to type. “But I’m starting to wonder if I just liked the way you used to act around Linda…” She finished her sentence with a flourish. “You were so cute back then.”

A touch of guilt flickered in Ash’s eyes, just before they hardened. Ready to bite her head off with some quick retort, he was cut off by Pearl.

She sat with a small yellow pad in her hand. “What’s her name?”

He blinked, deciding to take advantage of her kindness while it was being offered. “Sheila. Sheila…Britain.” Pearl’s expression was so smug that he quickly cut in, “Sheila Britannia.”

“Want me to make it easy for me and call her Sheila Williams?” he paled just slightly under the ugly white lighting. “You remembered something about her – that’s good. But, I suppose it would be hard to develop amnesia about a girl you met in the fourteenth century.” Ash cringed as his propensity for leaving the truth unvarnished smacked him the face. “You’re terrible at lying, Williams. You’d make the worst politician.”

Ash laughed. “Like that was ever in the cards…”

A little more kindly, Pearl added, “I’ll give you the soc for free – but if you want an ID, she’s gonna need to come in. I’ll do it under the cover of a passport session.” Her look was a direct one.

Ash smiled – involuntarily – at Pearl’s kindness. He did have a tiny spot of affection for the older woman after all. A very tiny spot. “Why the hell are you doing this for me?”

Pearl shrugged. “Because you’re paying and I’ve got a photography studio to open,” she added, more firmly, “and whatever’s happening with this Sheila girl – if what you and Louie told me is the truth…”

“And I DON’T lie,” Louie called, flipping through a random pile of freshly processed photos.

“Do NOT take those out of order!” she ordered Louie. Then, turning to Ash, she added, “it isn’t her fault. And I don’t think she should suffer for what’s probably your screw up.”

“Thanks,” Ash muttered, not having considered that Sheila’s appearance could be his fault. He had said the words right this time…hadn’t he?

“It’ll take a week for the Soc card, but I can get you the bc by the end of the night.” Her gaze enervates him. “You best be good to her.”

Ash managed a strained smile. “I’m trying.”

“All right. I’ll come to you,” she said with her typical cool élan, turning back to an undeveloped reel of film. “Close the door tight when you leave.”

Ash nodded, confidently leaving the room with Louie only a pace or two behind. They were all the way in housewares, somewhere past the coffee pots, when Ash finally turned around.

“Uh…thanks, Louie.”

Louie smiled his weird, overjoyed grin. “You know I’d totes do anything for you, King!”

“Uh, yeah…like I said, thanks…”

“Do you wanna come kneeboarding…”

“No.”

“Oh,” Louie mumbled. “Okay. Yeah, I better get back to…”

Ash sighed. “Let’s just say I owe you one.”

Louie grinned. “Bitchin,” He said, turning around and heading back to automotives.

Ash smirked to himself. Sometimes, it was just too easy to please the people…

“Hey, Walker! The King owes me a favor!” Enthused Louie on his way by jewelry.

Walker – the frequent victim of Ash’s storytelling, the guy he’d been telling his story to the night of the Deadite attack, and resultantly the guy who always enjoyed it just a little bit when Ash suffered – looked up from his bottle of Fresca.

He smiled, swiped his thumb across his throat, and turned back to a newly-arrived customer.

***

The woman at Ash’s door stared at Sheila with clever blue eyes, her hands laced tightly over the handle of a hand-truck filled with collapsed cardboard boxes. “You’re Ash’s sister?”

She nodded her head, quickly. “Aye,” she said, stepping back. “I’m visiting from Britain.” Sheila was astonished by the rapidity of her own lies.

A frown. “Ash told me his sister was studying upstate.” She shrugged. “Well, he did say you were artistic…he didn’t mention anything about a baby, though.” Her tone of voice, and the look she gave Sheila’s stomach, forced Sheila to bite back a comment about the woman’s dirty sweatsuit.

“I hope he doesn’t mind your letting me in,” the older woman sighed, heading inside with a cardboard box. She took a look around the apartment and sighed. “She told me it was small, but I wasn’t quite picturing this small…” Her eyes fell to the picture, and she picked it up. “Look at them,” she uttered softly. “God, she was crazy about him.”

Sheila couldn’t keep the quiver from her voice. “Aye…he told me he loved her as well.”

She laughed. “It did take awhile, didn’t it? I’m sure he told you how he chased her through most of their freshman year. Oh, she couldn’t stand him! He had a big mouth and no matter what he did it got on Linda’s nerves. Do you know how he finally convinced her to go out with him?” Sheila shook her head. “He followed her to a house party a couple of years ago, and paid the kid manning the stereo to pop in a mix tape he’d made for her. By the time they were dancing, it was over.” The woman shook her head. “She told me she was gone after that. Without a trace.” Sheila quivered, the woman’s sorrow imprinting itself on her mind like a tattooist’s needle, but rigidly she controlled her expression. “We always thought they’d get married some day.”

“I am sorry.” Sheila couldn’t stand to see the women’s sadness – it mirrored too well her own lost self.

“I’m glad he was with her when she died,” Linda’s mother said. With that stated, she squared her shoulders. “I’ll start with the closet. Thank you for listening to me go on, Cheryl.”

“Art welcome,” Sheila murmured to her back. Bereft, she sat back down on the couch, waiting to feel useful again. Minutes ticked by, each one dripping like a dot of sweat down her spine. The sound of the older woman’s tears soon brought her back to her feet, and took her to the bedroom.

Sheila was astonished to see how many of the room’s fixtures were Linda’s possessions- the entire dresser and a third of the open closet had found its way into the boxes. She looked up when Sheila entered the room, and gave a pained smile.

“I gave her this when she was five,” she said, holding out large pink-painted figurine of a ballerina on pointe.

Sheila felt her heart twist. “Tis lovely.”

“I want Ash to have it,” Linda’s mother decided, wiping her eyes. “He can keep the pictures, too,” she added. “Linda sent me one of the two of them together, and the rest should belong to him.” She paused. “I don’t believe I ever told you my name.” Sheila shook her head. “It’s Mandy.”

Before Sheila could stop herself, she replied honestly, “my name is Sheila.” Her lips turned white as she realized her faux pas.

Mandy stilled, and went slightly pale. “Sheila. THE Sheila? Middle-Age-Noblewoman-Sheila?”

“Aye…” Sheila stuttered. “How did thee…”

“Linda’s best friend works at S-Mart. She told me about Ash’s stories…” she sighed. “They were thinking of committing him for observation until the Deadites attacked. I’m actually rather glad you’re real.”

She held out her hands. “As thee can see from my garb and speech, Ash spake the truth.” She bowed her head. “’Twasn’t my intent to lead thee astray. My circumstances are odd…”

“You seem like a nice girl. I’m…glad you helped bring him back to himself. We all know if he didn’t have to kill Linda, he wouldn’t have…done what he did.” Mandy got up off of the bed. “That’s everything.” Sheila nodded. “Will you be all right here alone?”

“I shall.”

Mandy took hold of her hand truck, leaving behind the porcelain ballerina and the room. She turned to face Sheila in the hallway. “Do you know how to use the phone?”

Sheila blushed, shaking her head.

Mandy paused, nodded her head just once. “Will you let me teach you?”

Sheila jumped eagerly at the offer, her eyes wide. “Could thee? And the…what is it called…stove, as well?”

“I should,” Mandy shook her head, putting down the hand truck and heading into the kitchen. “Poor little thing, left alone in a strange world. What in the world was Ash thinking? “

“He thinks not.” Sheila announced. “I believe that may be why I have affection for him.”

Mandy laughed, and her eyes dipped toward her middle. “The baby is his.” It wasn’t a question at all.

Sheila nodded. “Aye.” She wasn’t ashamed of it.

Mandy grayed, just slightly, before sitting down at the table. She pulled a pad of paper from her purse, and a pencil, marking off a slim line. “This is what we call a one…”

***

Ash returned from his shift past midnight, exhausted by his unexpected double shift. Walker – who had promised to switch days with him – conveniently forgot about some sort of commitment he had, forcing Ash to stay behind and lock up in his place. Ash responded by “accidentally” switching their days so that Walker would be working Monday instead of Tuesday, leaving Ash free to go to Linda’s funeral. He was secretly, deeply, pleased with himself – milder forms of revenge could be just as sweet as lopping off someone's head. Who knew?

Once he managed to jiggle the lock open, Ash had to blink – the place was DARK, lit up only by a single lamp in the kitchenette.

Sheila sat at the table, slumped over, fast asleep (he realized quickly) with a pile of scribbled-upon pieces of paper beneath her head. A pencil lay curled in her palm, held awkwardly between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand.

He squinted down at one of the random notes, but he couldn’t read any of them. Who, he wondered, had stopped by to teach Sheila how to read and write? None of his old friends would have bothered – they would, however, have taken the time to get her to a psych ward. Maybe just because the entire place had been cleaned to an impeccable sheen somehow. He REALLY hoped she hadn’t found Debbie Whaserface’s underwear.

A few moments later, he found a note from Mandy Klein – Linda’s mother? Christ. - taped to the TV set.

 _“Ash – I’m sorry I missed you. Took most of Linda’s things back with me. Met Sheila, whom I like terribly. Trying to teach her how to read and write –bought her dinner. Once full, she fell asleep- couldn’t wake her up. Be good to her. I expect you both at the funeral. –Mandy.”_

Ambivalence filled Ash. He didn’t want anyone else to know about Sheila, but his big mouth had effortlessly sunk that effort. And Sheila wasn’t the sort of woman he wanted to hide, anyway…

Wanting to avoid facing his empty bedroom, he headed to the hall closet and rummaged around for a spare blanket. What Ash found made him crack another smile.

The cloak she’d made him fit perfectly over Sheila’s shoulders and when he placed it over her back, she didn’t even stir. He watched her for just a moment, unable to resist running his hand over her head – just once, a light caress. Fondness, instead of lust, this time.

He pulled the forged birth certificate from his coat pocket, placing it on the table just above her sprawled fingers. Tomorrow he would bring up the funeral, his need for her to be there with him, but today, just for that instant, he was content to watch her sleep.

In the bedroom, a china ballerina waited.

Ash stared at it for a moment before picking it up carefully. _Why didn’t Missus Klein take this thing? He wondered to himself._ It was definately of more use to her than him. He remembered how much it meant to Linda; she’d toted that damn thing with her through three moves and would wind it up at least once a day. That was, in fact, the last thing she’d done before they’d left for the cabin.

It played “Dance of the Little Swans”; the tune was imprinted on every nerve in his body. She’d made him learn how to play it; and he had done so, just to make her happy.

If you loved Linda, you had to learn to love it.

He wouldn’t wind it up tonight – or ever again. Instead Ash dumped the figurine in his closet where he wouldn’t have to see or think about it, feel the tangible reminder of how hard he’d tried to push away her memory. Were Linda there – able to speak to him in her own voice – she probably would have told him that he was in denial. Ash decided, as he twisted under the blankets and forced himself to sleep, that he’d earned the right to play pretend, if it got him through another day.

Whatever kept him alive.


	4. All That We Let In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ash attends Linda's funeral, then experience Sheila's cooking.

“We've lost friends and loved ones much too young. With so much promise and work left undone. When all that guards us is a single centerline. And the brutal crossing over when it's time.” – Emily Saliers – All That We Let In

**

 _The Quick Red Fox Jumped Over The Lazy Brown Dog._

Sheila stared at the sentence Mandy had diagramed for her the previous day, the words nearly meaningless to her. Frustration curled up inside of her belly, her fingers squeezing hard against the pencil’s firm grain.

Mandy insisted that she was learning at quite a curve; in the scant six days she had figured out the basic meanings of modern numbers, the modern English alphabet and understood the rudimentary methods of phone usage and oven operation. Mandy’s latest act of generosity had been to give Sheila a pile of children’s chap books, and, just as rudimentarily, she came to understand that a dog was a d-o-g; a ball was a b-a-l-l. Even with this small progress, for Sheila - for whom Latin had come with such ease at the age of ten - the slowness of her approbation felt daunting.

It felt easier to learn the language than to adjust to the clothing, she decided, playing with the collar of her itchy new sweater. Her wardrobe thus far consisted of a pile of odd teeshirts Ash had swiped out of a Goodwill box, two skirts from same she had been forced to take in several inches, a sweater that had once been Ash’s, and a pack of barely-extant panties and a bra that Ash swore “looked like they’d fit her” back on the rack at S-Mart (she felt positive that he knew they were undersized). Glancing at herself in the mirror this morning, Sheila had stared like an empty-headed fool, unable to figure out who she was anymore. At least until her vomiting spells began again.

“Hey.”

She glanced over her shoulder and let out a little gasp of surprise. Had she known him longer, she would have realized that Ash’s being up and about at seven in the morning on his lonesome was a minor miracle; the sight of him neatly shaven and in a decently-tailored and clean suit robbed Sheila of speech.

Ash, for the first time perhaps in his entire life, remained speechless as well – apparently her modern dress proved as arresting. He suddenly regained his gift of gab. “Can you tie this for me?”

Sheila stared at the strip of cloth looped around Ash’s neck. A knot she could tie – in rope, or the laces of a doublet, but this particular garment perplexed her and she told him so.

Ash shrugged. “Oh yeah – I thought…” he turned toward the reflective surface of his toaster and started to knot it. “Never mind.”

Sheila frowned – this seemed to be yet another duty a Woman of The Modern Manor needed to know. “I shall ask Mandy to tutor me.”

“Don’t need to,” he turned toward her, took her hands in his, and silently taught her how to knot a tie. His bulky metal hand and her lack of assurance forced them to tarry but gradually, eventually, a knot formed in the fabric – it hung awkwardly askance but seemed serviceable. She held onto both of his hands, even when he tried to pull away. “That’s how you tie a tie.”

“Art comely,” she informed him, truth trumping pride on her personal scale of virtue.

He shrugged and smirked, saying, “don’t look that bad yourself. But that could be tighter,” he pointed at her sweater, which earned him a dangerous-looking frown. More seriously, he added, “you sure you don’t wanna come?”

She shook her head, letting go of him and looking down. “Tis unfit,” she declared simply. As close as Sheila had drawn to Mandy over the past week, coming to Linda’s burial service seemed a highly improper idea. Ash himself had skipped the memorial service, preferring to attend the burial portion of the funeral – Linda’s mother hadn’t dared ask him to do more.

Ash shrugged. “Okay. Do you want something?”

She stared up at him, a thousand thoughts behind her wide eyes. _I want you to be glad of this,_ she thought. Instead Sheila murmured something to the effect of a no. “Does thou want something?”

“My mommy,” he drawled, rolling his eyes. “I’m okay.” He patted the top of her head, in what she knew was a gesture of possessiveness. “Take care of yourself and junior.” The first time he’d ever really acknowledged the child – it made Sheila’s heart jump with gladness. Smiling foolishly, she finally lifted her weight away from his body and stared at his retreating form.

With the slamming of a door, Ash had disappeared and left Sheila alone with her plans. A tiny smile twisted her mouth, her palm running gently over the slight rise of her stomach. She straightened the papers before donning an old leather jacket found abandoned in the unweeded hall closet – it carried Ash’s scent, musky and comforting. She walked to the door and only hesitated a moment before turning the lock, then emerging into the modern world for the very first time.

 

***

The cemetery had once been a resting place for the wealthy elite of vacationing Detroit natives, but now it was down about his ankles, though a few of the green-mossed crypts were attended to by the later generations, smaller tombstones had rotted away under years of hailstorms. The occasional angel popped up, statures of maidens sitting and weeping, eyes hidden in flat palms – they turned away from Ash, seeming to know him by way his head hung, the blood that wouldn’t wash from unseen cracks of his body. He strode blindly up a trimmed pathway with a fistful of mums and baby’s breath, searching for the right party.

There were quite a few people feting their dead today.

He didn’t know whether or not they were all victims of the Deadite invasion, but many mourners sprinkled pink powder into open graves and left carrying urns with them. He knew he should be quite immune to guilt at this point – and he knew that he’d done what he could – but it still pricked his conscious to see the toll. Conversely, he didn’t notice the nods of acknowledgement, the occasional flicker of a camera flashing nearby.

Ash spotted Mandy at a plot at the far end of the cemetery, ringed by a tiny circle of chairs, all filled. She greeted him with a hug that he stiffly acquiesced to. “You came,” she said, in a tone that told him she hadn’t really expected it. “Sheila couldn’t?”

He finally pried himself out of Mandy’s grasping hands. “It’s pregnancy stuff,” he lied. “She’s royalty. Doesn’t wanna throw up in public.”

Mandy’s face contorted slightly. “I understand. When I was pregnant with Linda I couldn’t stand the smell of tuna, and I’d throw up at the oddest of times. Once I was in line at the supermarket and she made me run outside and heave in the grass.”

A smart remark danced on the tip of his tongue, but for once he held his tongue – Mandy seemed ready to lose her mind, and he knew too well that feeling - so he patted her back awkwardly and offered nothing more than his solidarity.

Mandy broke away, and guided him to a folding chair – front row, beside her. He glanced around and recognized a few faces – Linda’s college girlfriends, her sorority sisters. He exchanged amused nods with her old boyfriend, Charlie, and noticed her aunt and uncle hovering near the edge of the grave. It was a small but perfect gathering of people who’d known Linda and loved her. He finally asked Mandy, “her father couldn’t make it?”

The woman’s features hardened into a scowl. “He’s probably still on the kibbutz. I sent a message to his brother,” she made a helpless gesture. “But I never expected him to show up.”

The bitterness in Mandy’s tone didn’t break through Ash’s disgust. “His daughter just died. How can his hippie bullshit be more important than her?!”

“This is par for the course with Stephen.” Mandy’s gaze had focused beyond Ash’s shoulder. “If he meant anything to her at all, I would’ve flown to Israel myself, but he left when Linda was one.” She shook her head. “For years, it was just the two of us. She had friends, and Charlie - and then you…” He felt a flash of anxiety - _oh God, she’s going to cry._ “We never needed anyone else.”

“You were a good mom,” he told Mandy blandly, patting her back. “Linda loved you.” He knew he sounded like a robot.

Mandy’s smile quivered. “I know. Do you know how much she loved you?”

“Yeah.” But he knew he hadn’t loved her enough to save her, and the fact chewed at his guts.

“But I don’t care what her father thinks. That’s why this is a Christian service.” That actually made Ash grin; going Catholic had been one of the millions of things Linda had done in the twenty-three years she’d been alive to discover herself and turn Mandy’s hair gray.

A man with nicotine-colored hair and what could be described as a triple chin approached, a Bible and a delicate-looking green porcelain urn held close to his chest. He shifted the urn to his right hand and squeezed Mandy’s shoulder with his sausage fingers. “If you’re ready.”

Mandy swiped her tears away with her index fingers, she nodded. The priest turned, walked to the head of the grave, and began to incant the burial rites.

Ash stared at the priest’s hands as they dug deep into the green jar and tossed out bits of pink powder. That was all that was left of the girl he’d been in love with for three years, he realized, and had to reminded himself that it wasn’t really her they were tossing into the earth – just the exhausted remnants of a body they’d tried to destroy . Linda’s true essence was somewhere far worse – somewhere he’d been himself; his blunt nails bit into his palms when he remembered. He’d done what he could, had gotten them both a little payback, but he couldn’t save her. That was the cold, hard truth of it all and it weighed on him whenever he took the time to think of it.

When the service ended, he walked to the vacant space and threw his flowers inside, and something more. He thought he heard a girl’s laugh, echoing through the distance.

The chain glinted back in the hazy sunlight as an undertaker started filling the void.

***

 

 _Ladies do not retch in public,_ Sheila told herself. As she leaned against the back alley wall and gasped for air, however, she decided that they did indeed retch in the semi-privacy of alleys, dumpsters and the occasional trash can.

Her adventure had been quite successful thus far, though it wasn’t as easy as she had hoped to ‘get a job’, as they called it in the modern world. There were no guilds to apprentice herself to, and she was quite certain that mentioning her connection to the royal world would only result in her being carted off to whatever passed for the pit in this society. Instead, she fetched a pile of what were called ‘applications’. Sheila didn’t know what one did with an ‘application’, but she was certain that Mandy knew and would help her. All had been going well indeed…her stomach lurched again, and she closed her eyes and counted to five in Latin.

A hand grasped her left shoulder and she whirled around, prepared to defend herself against the foul thing grasping hold of her. But what held Sheila wasn’t a thing - it was a very tall oriental girl with aqua-striped hair, watching her with kind eyes.

“Are you okay?”

Sheila shrugged. “Aye. ‘Tis only ‘morning sickness’.” She annunciated carefully.

The girl nodded. “You sure, sweetie? You look awfully deprived.”

Sheila eyed the girl’s garb – the shredded teeshirt and long, tie-dyed shirt she wore were the same shade as the girl’s brightly-colored hair. Judged upon looks alone, she could be a warrior or a great fool; but her gaze betrayed enough intelligence to allow Sheila to reveal a bit more of herself.

“I shan’t be ‘deprived’ much longer. Art apprenticing to a guild.”

The woman didn’t pick up Sheila’s secret shame about this fact – royal women back where she came from DID NOT work for a living. But, apparently they did in Ash’s America, and it was a Necessary Part Of Being A Modern Woman. She wanted to impress him and to have autonomy from him all at once, and this ‘job’ would serve the suit.

Eyebrows rose. “It’s April, lady – the Renaissance fair doesn’t run until October.”

Sheila frowned. “I seek employ,” she explained, then held out the stack of applications.

Now the girl wore a suspicious look. “You’re not from here, are you?” Sheila shook her head. “But you’re here of your own free will, right?”

“Not precisely,” Sheila admitted. “But,” she added quickly, “I’m quite glad I am here.”

“You said you need a job, right? Can you sew?”

Sheila’s face lit right up. “I do – and embroider passing fine.” Her eager enthusiasm makes the girl cross her arms and nod.

“Can you interview, like, right now?” Sheila nodded, though she had no idea what an ‘interview’ was. “Come with me and I’ll talk to my boss – we’re looking for someone to help out…”

“Help where?” Sheila wondered – she followed already.

The girl tossed a glance over her shoulder, her pace never slacking. “She runs a dress shop – mostly custom designs and wedding gowns - and pre-mades.”

“Oh,” Sheila said, having no clue what a pre-made was either.

“We’re in a post-February lull but it’s about to gear up again – spring wedding season, just when things get crazy,” she rolled her eyes. “Every spring we get a fresh batch of crazy brides. I don’t get the drama.”

Sheila reached out and kindly patted the girl on her shoulder. “Thy love will come one day. Have heart.”

The girl blinked at her forwardness. “I’m never getting married. Don’t tell me you buy into that every-girl’s-gotta-get-married stuff.” Sheila gave her a doe-eyed look that barely masked her confusion. “Ugh! Lady, that’s bullshit force fed to us by the patriarchy!”

Sheila had no idea what ‘the patriarchy’ was, but she rejondered, “I cannot help but wish for marriage. Tis the highest estate a lady can achieve.”

The girl shook her head. “The highest estate a lady can achieve…Try president of the United States. God, where are you getting this from?”

“’Tis what I was raised to believe,” Sheila shrugged. “And I shall believe evermore that wifery is a fine occupation.”

“The best thing about moving away from your parents is defying their expectations. I mean, I love my folks, but they’re pretty screwed up.” She stopped in front of the dress shop, peered through the dusty glass and paid witness to another bride being fitted into her gown. She glared at the hallmark-sweet tableau before them. “I think you need me, chick. A friend with a backbone.”

Sheila smiled – if the girl wasn’t aware of Sheila’s backbone yet, she would soon know it very well. “I am indeed in need of a friend. What, kind stranger, is thy name?”

The girl held out her hand. “I’m Joy Kwan.”

Sheila stared at the offered hand for a moment. She decided to have Ash teach her the meaning behind this odd greeting as quickly as possible. She bowed deeply instead. “Lady Sheila Pendragon of Upper Devon.”

Joy stared as she pulled open the door. “You’re so coming to my next NOW meeting,” she muttered, and ushered her inside.

***

 

 _He was walking, not running, this time – no forest around him, no cabin beneath his feet. The campus of the university of Michigan spread out around him dizzyingly, endless waves of green rolling in the wind. He…was wearing what he’d worn on freshman orientation day? Completely distracted, he managed to walk into and knock down…_

 _Her._

 _“…Sorry,” came out of his choked throat._

 _“Accidents happen.” She tilted her head. “Hey, I think we’re in the same abnormal psych class. Ash, right?”_

 _“Yeah,” he squeaked. “Uh…you’re…”_

 _“Linda Klein,” she said. “Nice to meet you…” she gathered up her books and pressed them to her chest. She stared into his eyes – her hand came up, stroking his cheek. “This is how we met,” she told him._

 _“I know,” he muttered._

 _She moved toward him, closer, her lips just inches from his. “I’m all right, now,” she said._

 _He shook his head. “You can’t be.”_

 

A horn blared. Ash started awake just in time to see a Subaru veer around him and gun through the green light, the passengers screeching “WAKE UP, ASSHOLE”. He rubbed his eyes and glanced in stupefied amazement up at the traffic light.

Ash orientated himself quickly, remembering that he was on his way home from Mandy’s place in Detroit. The post-funeral reception had been grim, and he’d picked his way through the sandwich she had forced upon him and subjected himself to small talk with Linda’s resentful friends. One had a baby on the way – another was getting married – another was finally going to graduate. _What are you doing with the rest of your life, Ash?_ was the predominant mode of question, and he had no answers. The old plan was ‘graduate and work at S-Mart until Linda finishes school, then figure it out from there’. He was fairly rudderless, but this barely bothered him. The rest of the time he was haunted by her image, smiling out happily from frames in every corner of the room.

It was, he thought to himself, just another dream, one more side-effect of his temporary madness. He arrived home a few moments later and was met by the pleasing scent of….Five-Way Chili? That, indeed, was what Sheila had conjured up for him. She sat, fresh in a brand-new summer-cut white dress at the kitchen table.

Her expression showed intense worry. “Art all well?”

He managed a tired nod. “You cooked.”

“Mandy taught me a few days ago. She said ‘tis your favorite.”

He grinned, dumping onions, hot sauce and cheese into the steaming plate of chili and noodles, stirring it all together, winding the spaghetti around his fork. “You just might get the hang of being a housewife one day, beautiful,” Ash praised her, popping a forkful into his mouth.

“Tis the smallest favor I could turn for thee. Thou hast given me lodging and board, and I am indebted to thee, as always.” She looked into his face and was surprised to see tears in his eyes. “Art crying?”

He coughed. His eyes bugged out.

“Ash?” she worried.

He answered her by grabbing the nearest beverage he could seize- in this case, a full pitcher of lemonade – and glugging most of it down. The rest soaked into his suit and the gray carpeting.

At last, he put the pitcher down. “What did you put in that?”

Sheila frowned. “I did as Mandy instructed…” her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you added too much of this foul brew…” she pointed to the recently-used hot sauce bottle.

Ash picked it up and squinted at the label. “Bob and Sally’s Ring of Fire Hot Sauce. Warning: Do not Use as Additive.” He slammed the bottle down, and glared at her. “Are you crazy? That stuff could burn a hole through concrete!”

Sheila sat proudly, stiff and unmoving, her chin quivering just slightly but her eyes completely defiant. Ash looked down at the dish, then back up into her downtrodden face.

The spoon moved toward his mouth…

***

Some time later, he emerged from the bathroom and staggered to the bedroom, shedding his suit on the way and stripping to his underwear. Sheila already lay abed in a pale blue nightgown, working with an embroidery hoop.

She looked up and anxiously moved toward him. He smirked and warded off her concern. “Bob and Sally don’t lie,” he declared, jumping into bed beside her and turning on the television.

“Art fine?”

He shrugged. “Wasn’t worse than the time I drank boiling water…” He glanced over his shoulder and realized he was terrifying her. “It’s okay. I’m still alive.”

She sighed and turned back to her sewing – he found a Laurel and Hardy film and began to laugh, loudly and obnoxiously, in an unsubtle attempt at getting her attention.

Like any boy who’s been pulling on a pigtail for a few minutes, Ash realized it was time to switch tactics. He asked, “where’d you get the dresses from?”

“Art gifts,” she said enigmatically. Just to annoy him.

“Yeah? From who?” One eyebrow rose.

“My boss,” she smiled, not stumbling at all over the new word. She held out the hoop, and he could see a row of carefully stitched flowers blooming around the yoke of a plain white work shirt. They looked good to his inexperienced gaze. “I’ve been apprenticed to Elaine’s Dress Shop.”

He had gone quiet and, momentarily, thoughtful – how had she managed to get to there and back by herself? It was impressively assertive, but that was the essence of fearless Sheila. He lifted his chin. “Good for you.” Then he threw his left thigh over both of hers, ungracefully tossing his weight against her body. “Wanna celebrate?”

She stiffened under his touch. “Art thou not required to rise early, m’lord?”

“I can handle it…” He was handling her, actually, his right hand on her hip, heavy – left hand trying to pull down the straps of her dressing gown. Then he kissed her, a little harder than he meant to.

“Thou said…said…” she moved away from his mouth. “That when we sleep together, thou..don’t.”

Ash watched her face as he moved a little closer to her, ‘til she was on her back and they were body-to-body. His lack-of-a-poker-face, for once, didn’t betray the fact that he’d been planning to have sex with her from the moment he woke up that morning.

“I need this, baby,” he declared – he needed HER, but he couldn’t own up to the thought. “Do you want it?” What the hell would he do if she said no? He really did need her body, the proven haven from the storms ravaging his life, the act that took him completely out of his pain.

Just the slightest of hesitations – then she twined her arms around his neck. “I understand it not,” she admitted softly. “I want thee and I want to be free of thee. ‘Tis a terrible ache, m’lord.”

She wanted to be free of him? He climbed to his elbows. “Why do you wanna get rid of me?”

Her eyes were unforgiving and direct. “Thou art unhappy about the babe.”

Ash blinked down at her. “I never said I didn’t want you to have junior. I’m just trying to get used to the idea of him.” She turned away from him, but he nudged her gaze back to meet his. “Gimmie a little time. I never planned on being someone’s dad.”

Sheila’s expression darkened. “I was trained to be a mother and a castellan. It seems that life has played us both the fool.”

He lowered his head until their foreheads met. “Yeah. Nice not to be alone, isn’t it?” With that, Ash grabbed the back of her head hard; the kiss he gave her was hard enough to make them both forget their confusion.

A few hours later, as she drifted off to sleep and he prepared to join her, Ash pecked her on the forehead.

“Fifty million and twenty,” he snickered into her unhearing ear.


	5. Pendulum Swinger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ash meets Joy, who has a small connection to the night he Saved The World.

“I dream like a mad one. Brutal fantasies of catch and catch can. I’m a psychic and a laywoman – I see love and I like to make it happen.” – Emily Saliers, Pendulum Swinger

 

***

 

“Dammit, Ash! Stop that!”

He paused at the end of aisle seven, abruptly realizing he’d been caught singing along to a muzak version of ‘Midnight Train To Georgia’. Vaguely embarrassed, Ash turned in the general direction of Walker’s voice. “Aww, shuddup – it’s better than having to listen to…” He wiggled his fingers about to indicate the background music, which had just switched to a soft jazz version of “The Girl From Impanema”. “This stuff for hours.”

“April told me they can hear your tone-deaf ass all the way over in checkout.” Ash mentally translated this into ‘you’re cockblocking me’, as Walker had been spending most of the past week sneaking away from his post behind their supervisor’s back to April’s register, hoping to get her phone number .

Were Ash not so completely distracted by the Sheila situation, he would’ve spared April more than a couple of glances himself – she was a pretty if dizzy girl with lots of wavy blonde hair. Maybe the unicorn tattoo on her left shoulder was a little precious, and her habit of speaking in riddles was a turn-off, but both were probably easy to ignore were she on her knees...

“Tell her it’s payback ‘cause I had to put up with her crap at closing yesterday,” he pitched his voice higher. “’Oh, Ash, would you mind making a bank run for me? I’ve got a date to Roxy tonight!’” A derisive snort. “Like she’s the only one on-shift who’s trying to get laid…”

Walker rolled his eyes. “We all know you’re getting laid, Ash.”

It wasn’t as if he’d tried to keep it hidden, but he still felt just a tad of disgust. “God, you guys gossip about me like a pack of little old ladies.”

“Everyone gossips about everyone else.” That was true enough – everyone seemed to have a story of their own, and those were whispered about back in the break room and in downtime conversation.

“Excuse me,” a chilly voice called out - behind Walker stood an annoyed-looking elderly woman with a very impatient expression on her face. “Could either of you FINE young gentlemen help me buy a watch?”

Ash laughed out loud at Walker’s oh-shit-she’s-going-to-report-me-to-our-supervisor expression, then tried to look busy stocking a pile of hibachis.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry…” Walker remarked. “Which one did you want?” they headed back out the aisle toward jewelry.

Ash just kept on laughing – but before HE could be caught, he knuckled down and finished off the stack of boxes.

***

 _“A woman, a man, a woman, a man, Tristian and Isolde…”_ Sheila looked up from the sleeve of the gown she’d been hemming to realize everyone in the shop was staring at her. Blushing, she quickly said, “I believe ‘tis the right length, Joy.”

Joy glanced up from her sewing machine. “Looks good to me. Howsit, Miss Elaine?”

Miss Elaine was a woman of around fifty, in a skintight hot pink business suit with a high pile of cotton-candy colored hair knotted into a coronet. She looked over Sheila’s stitching carefully – after a breathless moment, she smiled. “Good work, Sheila.”

“Thank you, m’lady,” Sheila glowed.

“I don’t know where you found her,” Miss Elaine addressed Joy, “but she certainly knows her way around a needle.”

Joy smirked. “I’ve got my ways,” she shrugged. Saying ‘I found her throwing up in an alley’ would only make them both seem like derelicts.

“Finish this up; we’ll baste it on after lunch, and then start with the hem.” Joy halted for a moment, expecting Miss Elaine to correct her for giving Sheila so much direction – well, she had been put in charge of ‘showing the new girl around’…

Miss Elaine ignored them both, striding beyond their workstation, through the double doors leading to the dressing area, where a blonde with a terrible perm whirled around before a three-way mirror. “The train,” she pitched, “is a foot long. The cap sleeves give it a regal look, don’t they?”

An older woman, bedecked in a bright purple dress with white flowers, emerged from the dressing room. “Do you think it makes her look too tall? Her groom’s six-two; in heels she’s six-three.”

“A bride can never appear too majestic,” oozed Miss Elaine. “It is, after all, the most SPECIAL day of her life…”

Joy ‘accidentally’ scraped the metal footpads of her chair against the concrete floor as she stood up, producing a high-pitched sound akin to nails on chalkboard that made everyone in the shop turn and stare at her. Joy stared back fearlessly and said quite loudly, “Well, lookey gee - Mickey Mouse says it’s past noon. You wanna come grab a slice of pizza with me, Sheila?”

“Must we hurry?” Sheila caressed the white silk, her eyes betraying a hint of whist. “I did want to finish the dress.”

“We can finish it when we get back,” Joy donned her denim jacket and retrieved her purse. “Miss Elaine? I’m taking my lunch break, and so’s Sheila.”

“Yes,” Miss Elaine remarked, barely paying attention to her employee as she trilled, “We could take it in at the waist a bit…a couple of inches off of the bottom should make you look shorter. I’d suggest wearing flats.”

“Mummy,” the blonde whined, “flats?! I’m not wearing FLATS at my WEDDING!”

“Leona does have her heart set on heels…” Purple Dress Woman said.

Sheila couldn’t resist sticking her nose in as she and Joy tried to leave the shop. “Thy height shan’t matter to thy beloved,” she declared. “If thy love is true.”

Leona shook her head. “I can’t be taller than him – the pictures will look…OMIGAWD, MUMMY, WE HAVE TO TALK TO THE PHOTOGRAPHER…”

“We’ll drop in on ‘im on the way back to Royal Oak…” Purple Dress addressed Miss Elaine, “Can we see what the dress will look like a few inches shorter?”

“At Miss Elaines’ anything is possible,” said the proprietress. “Carmen,” she trilled to the bored teenager hiding behind the register, “can you help me with Leona?” She flung a quick, desperate glance at Joy that screamed ‘get the girl out of here’.

“C’mon, Sheila,” Joy had the door open.

Sheila gave the bride-to-be a smile. “May thy marriage be fruitful,” she smiled, following Joy out the door.

The woman frowned distractedly. “Does that mean I look fat? Mummy, do I look fat?”

Joy slammed the door shut behind Sheila and began striding aggressively toward the other end of the block, where a Pizza Hut sat. She unzipped her purse, fished out a pink lighter and a pack of Camels, then lit one. Two drags deep, she turned to Sheila. “THAT’S what I was talking about,” Joy jabbed her cigarette back in the direction of the shop. “Total craziness. Next month she’ll be multiplied by ten, and we’ll have to wait on them all,” she muttered.

Sheila shrugged her shoulders. “She seemed kind enough. Perhaps ye misjudge her…”

Joy groaned. “Ha! She only has a mild case of the crazies. Wait till you meet some broad on a deadline with a five-cent budget.” None of what Joy suggested seemed to make much of an impression on Sheila, so she sighed, “I’ve gotta make you more of a cynic, girl.”

Sheila lifted her chin. “A cynic I shall never be, Joy.”

Joy stubbed out her cig against a passing brick wall. “Yeah. I think that’s what I like about you,” Joy sighed, shepparding her friend into the Pizza Hut.

Sheila seated herself at a table far from the door. She fiddled nervously with the red plastic tablecloth under Joy’s watchful eye. Since she’d expressed no preference for toppings, Joy selected two pepperonis and waited at the counter while Sheila poked at the holes lining her shaker of red pepper flakes. Her order came up quickly; at that point Joy approached with two slices of pizza and complimentary paper cups of cola, carried on a red tray. It was Sheila’s curious way of watching Joy eat, followed by her near-exact copying of her manners, that sparked Joy’s worries back to life.

“You aren’t from here, are you? I mean…” Joy leaned a little closer to her, “I can tell you’re from somewhere overseas, but you’re…not FROM here…”

Sheila nodded. “Ye have Ash’s gift with words. As I said, I come to this world not in this world through my own will, but I stay here happily.”

“And that’s the part that confuses me,” Joy said. “Sheila, are you here illegally? And who’s Ash?”

Her eyes darted. “I did not travel here through normal means, aye. And Ash is my Lord.”

“The guy who brought you here?” Sheila often waxed rhapsodic about ‘her lord’, but frankly the stuff she said made Joy wonder if the guy was keeping her hopped up on psychotropic drugs.

“I know not,” she said tightly, finishing her slice and taking a very long drink of soda. She coughed. “Tis a strange taste,” Sheila declared, staring at the cup.

She didn’t know what cola tasted like? Suspicion consumed Joy – she decided to offer her an exit. “If you’re in trouble, you can stay with me for a few weeks. I have an apartment across the thoroughway – it’s crappy but it’s got heat and water.”

Sheila smiled apprehensively. “I…once thought to leave. There lies a hardness within him that tries me, but art learning to slip around it. I shall stay with him, ‘til the babe comes. Oh, tis good of you to worry, Joy,” she squeezed her hand. “Art a wondrous companion.”

Joy’s concern, however, would not abate -. She wiped her lips on a yellow napkin. “C’mon – we’ve got another half hour left on our break. Where does your ‘Lord’ work?”

Sheila brightened instantly. “The S-Mart…”

“That’s two blocks from here. Can you leg it?”

“Aye,” she smiled, her quick mind catching up to Joy’s very twentieth-century speech.

“Bring your soda,” Joy smiled, a slight edge in her voice. “I may need to throw something.”

***

“DUDE!”

Louie’s shout disturbed Ash just as he’d exited the break room. The younger man held aloft a Ritz cracker with something yellow spritzed on it. “They’re giving out free Wispride samples in the food aisle! Score!”

“Snot on a shingle,” Ash remarked. “Yum.”

“You don’t know what you’re missin’, man!” piped Louie, spraying cracker crumbs everywhere.

Ash batted away Louie’s crumbs. “Come any closer and I’ll - dammit - don’t you have something better to do back in Automotives?”

“Murph told me to take lunch,” Louie shrugged. “But I spent all of my cash on some sweet radials for the Chicken Coop, so I had to go cheap.”

Ash had seen Louie’s ‘Chicken Coop’ – it was a made-over Ford station wagon he’d painted black and covered from bumper to bumper with stickers and band decals. It was not only ugly, it was probably a road hazard. “I’m sure you get all of the dames, Louie.”

“For totes, King!” that earned Ash yet another slap on the back.

“THAT’S him? I thought he’d be…taller…” a snotty, feminine voice piped up from behind Ash. Ahh, his public. With a pasted-on grin, he turned to confront what waited.

Two women stood behind him, but only one of them made his heart race. “Sheila?” he asked, but it was the tall Asian chick with the weird hair who spoke first.

“Oh my god,” she said, her voice filled with disgust, “it’s you!”

***

A grand total of one thought ran through Ash’s mind as he stared UP at the very annoyed-looking woman: _Did I fuck her?_ She WAS wearing that very special sort of expression – the one he’s only seen on the faces of women ready to get even with him. Just a little warily, he tried the businessman approach. “Teeshirts are ten bucks. If you wanna picture…”

She glared. “Uh, hello? “ she snotted. “Don’t you remember me?”

Ash didn’t, but he’d met a lot of women in the past couple of months. “Woah, dudette!” Louie came to his rescue and to his amazement slipped his body between the two of them. “Don’t bug the King! He’s on duty.”

“King?” the woman’s eyes narrowed, and they were focused fully on Ash. “Well, kings DO steal things without returning them. Countries and women…sometimes books…”

In a split-second, he had reared forward, clamping a hand over the girl’s mouth and squashing Louie in the impact. “What book?” she snarled curses against his hand, and he shook her. “What do you know about the book?”. She could have meant either book, any book, but he wasn’t going to take a chance.

“ASHLEY,” he heard Sheila cry, and when he turned to take in her stricken face the girl squirmed free, smacked him in the face with her purse, then squirted him dead in the eye with a stream of mace.

In the melee that followed, Ash couldn’t do much except yell every four-letter word he could think of while blindly flailing his limbs. The girl matched him letter-for-letter in the foul language department and seemed just as effective in the punching department, coughing heavily. Louie, caught between the two of them, could only complain that they were wrecking his hair; it was too dangerous to do much more. Sheila commanded them all to stop, then ordered them to stop all to absolutely no avail.

Ash heard the object make impact somewhere by his head - against a tall, stout blur rushing up the aisle yelling at them to quit it. The object bounced off the blur’s chest and splattered the four of them in…cola?

“ALL RIGHT.”

A bass voice that rivaled Darth Vader’s caused them all to freeze. Ash would never admit this to anyone, but it put the tiniest little bit of fear in him, as it belongs to his supervisor. The rest of his sentence wasn’t exactly comforting, either. “Everyone into the lounge…Now.”

He disentangled himself from the crazy chick, freeing Louie.

“Oh man,” he whined, “I’m so dead!”

“You didn’t do anything,” the girl snapped. “I’ll stick up for you…HE wouldn’t…”

“He so would, wouldn’t’cha, King?”

“I dunno – are you Louie or can of cashews?”

Small hands encircled his left wrist. “Tush. Come with me, m’lord.”

“Are you okay?”

“Art fine, m’lord.” Her voice came so steady and rich that he envied her composure.

In a few steps, he found himself pulled into the relative privacy of the employee lounge – he wouldn’t struggle, not out of her grip. “Now bend, m’lord.” She pushed him gently backward. Ash nearly bruised his nose on the faucet, but was soon rewarded with a cool rush of water over his sore eyes. He sighed at the feeling, very quietly, soothed. When the world came back into focus for him, Sheila’s breasts were directly in his line of sight. She petted the side of his face and his brow, murmuring words in some language he didn’t know that eased him nonetheless.

The view suddenly shifted and he mumbled his disappointment. Sheila’s eyes were dark and unamused. “Shalt be fine,” she decided, as if she held perfect certainty, patting his face dry.

“Yeah, it’s a little better,” he righted himself, but her hands stayed upon his arm.

Louie and the weird chick occupied two of four chairs surrounding the cheap plyboard breakroom table. David Gunnderson, their shift supervisor, sat quite authoritatively at the head of it, and watched Ash sit down, leaving Sheila to stand behind him.

“Now if I had to guess,” David began, “I’d have to say this was a shoplifting incident. Am I right?”

Weird girl let out an indignant cry. “I’ve never stolen anything in my life, unlike someone…”

“Cram it,” Ash requested. “She wasn’t stealing anything. It was…uh…” he faltered, and Sheila squeezed his shoulder.

“Louie?”

“She started it,” he whined like a toddler, hitching a thumb at weird chick.

“Exqueeze me?! Who touched who first?” Weird chick yelled.

Ash growled. “I had to shut you up in a hurry.”

She primly stuck her nose in the air. “There are ways to do that without invading my personal space. Like saying ‘please be quiet for a minute.’.”

“Well excuse me, princess, but I was out of crumpets!”

She shot Sheila a ‘what do you see in this asshole’? look. Then she actually SAID “Sheila, what do you see in this asshole?”

She had been watching them all in silent fascination, but compelled to speak, she said, “I do think ye could have been kinder to Joy, M’lord.”

Ash twisted around in his seat so that he could see her. “THAT’S Joy?! She’s your new best friend?”

“I’m your best friend?” Joy’s happy surprise ceased at Ash’s snarl.

“She meant no harm, m’lord.”

“You know better than that, baby. She was talking about something that could get us all killed!”

“Killed?” Joy muttered, mild confusion in her eyes.

David looked Ash over quite closely. “Son,” he said calmly, “are you…on the acid?”

Maybe it was his tone of voice, but the older man’s question made Louie burst into laughter. Ash blinked at him stupidly for a moment, ‘til the question sunk in and he found the humor in it. He cracked a smile. “I wish.” Louie kept hooting stupidly, so Ash smacked him upon the back. That shut the kid up. “I’m not on anything, Mr. Gunnderson.”

“Oh…does it have something to do with those dead people you shot up?” he seemed very nervous. Poor guy had just transferred in from the Minnesota branch.

“Yeah. It’s….”

“A domestic situation,” cut in Joy.

Ash shot her a surprised look. “Right. A domestic situation.” He wasn’t ready to forgive her yet, and made a show of rubbing at his eyes.

“All right,” David said. “I won’t put this in your file…But let this serve as an informal warning, fellas…”

“I figured,” Ash muttered, still glaring at Joy.

“You know what happens if…”

“I know,” Louie mumbled.

“So please try to…”

“I will,” The said together.

“All right, then,” David sighed. “Well, I’m going to back to my office and try to get these stains out of my shirt.”

“I must apologize for that, Sir,” Sheila said. “I but wanted them to cease their brawling and threw the first thing I could reach,” she patted the back of Ash’s head with a degree of fondness. “’Tis a habit of mine, I fear.”

David had only one more instruction, and it was delivered to Ash on the way out of the room. “Keep her away from sporting goods.”

***

“What be a ‘sporting good?” Sheila assumed David’s chair.

“Let’s just say they won’t let me work there anymore.”

Joy listened to Ash and Sheila talk in quiet contemplation. The guy wasn’t what she’d assumed he was, but then again creepy abusive domestic abusers didn’t tend to wear neon signs. She was quickly spotted when he turned around- Ash’s glare nearly made her laugh, for he looked quite like a pissed-off three year old.

The Louie kid was peeping around the back of Ash’s chair and staring at Sheila. “Woah…so it’s really her, huh?”

“Yeah, this is her – Sheila, this is Louie.” He grimaced as Louie pitched himself over the side of his chair and reached for Sheila’s hand.

Sheila seemed to love his enthusiasm. “How do you do? I am…”

“You’re the Lady Ash!” He shook her hand with almost violent enthusiasm. “I’ve heard all about you, O bodacious one. Enchante!” He then kissed it for an unseemly length of time.

Sheila smiled. “Y’ve trained him well, M’Lord,” she said to Ash. The kiss continued, and she coughed. “Knave, release my hand.”

Ash turned around and glared at Louie. It was enough to get the kid to quit the kissing stuff and shift back in his seat.

“You were right, King - she’s totally beautiful.”

Ash smiled – a brief, sarcastic one, but Sheila’s joy was obvious. “Thank ye.”

Some tiny bit of Joy was amused by all of this. The rest of her was determined to finish off this little confrontation – though thanks to Sheila she had no Pepsi to throw. “Okay, short dark and scarred, now tell me where my book is.”

Ash was glaring again. “Somewhere safe.”

“Yeah? What do you call safe? The bottom of the ocean or your bedside table? You didn’t lose it, did you? It was white and small and filled with fairy drawings and crap…”

Ash visibly relaxed. “Okay, you’re talking about the other book...”

“What other book…wait, there are TWO magical books floating around in the world?” Joy’s discombobulation was obvious.

“It’s a long story…”

“RAD! The King’s gonna tell his story!” Louie turned around his chair, straddled it and eagerly leaned forward to take in every word.

Apparently happy that his audience was a sympathetic one this time, Ash began his tale. It was a long one. And highly improbable. But also exceptionally entertaining, as he felt the need to act most of it out, and Louie felt the need to recite the more quotable parts along with him. Sheila watched quietly, beaming happily for the most part, except when he mentioned the whole kissing-another-girl-hail-to-the-king-part. For her part, Joy sat in contemplative silence, piecing together everything she’d heard and trying to mold it onto the wire skeleton of what she’d believed.

“….So I knew I needed the book to fix things. The cabin was out of the question – the police had it roped off, with orders to shoot idiots like me on sight…”

“You could’ve taken ‘em, King!” Louie crowed.

“Maybe,” Ash admitted. “But I wasn’t gonna risk it,” his tone turned sarcastic, “I’m too pretty to go to jail….” It returned quickly enough to a more serious tone. “Anyway, I got desperate. Came back here, tried the library, tried the antique book store…”

“That’s where I come in,” Joy said.

“Yeah?” Ash seemed to know where the story was leading.

Into Joy’s. And she decided to tell it…

 _The dull green basement of the deconsecrated church’s basement smelled like Pine Sol and rose incense. “Remember, Joy,” Mother Dana, the group’s leader, told her as she handed her a slim white volume covered in doeskin. “You’re to keep this always within reach. Never leave it where someone could see it, for the book’s to be handled by members of the group only.”_

 _“I will, Mother,” she said serenely._

 _“You’re to return the book to me at the next meeting, with the incantations on page five memorized.”_

 _“Yes, Mother Dana.”_

 _“Very well. Meet and well met.”_

 _Released, Joy happily scooted toward the doorway, all the while berating herself for deciding against joining a larger group. ‘Smaller’ meant more set-in-its-ways; smaller meant more confusing to newbies._

 _At home that night, she tried casting a circle that night as instructed by the book. Neither peace nor enlightenment came, of course. Joy became willfully, unfortunately impatient. So maybe she could just read it for a little while…not just the spells she had to know but more._

 _It proved an exercise in boredom. Lots of pretty pictures drawn in green ink of goddesses and fairies. There were spells and speeches and stories of Mother Dana and the Majik of the old days. Written entirely in Gaelic, someone had “helpfully” transcribed chapter titles and indexes into modern English on the border with serial-killer handwriting. She squinted and strained her eyes. The final chapters were filled with spells, which she decided, for the heck of it, to try out. Just the harmless ones that would change your eye color or turn your hair blue…._

Ash wore a grim expression. Joy comforted, “I never could get any of them to work,” she told them. He stared at her hair. “Really. I ended up doing that with Manic Panic.”

 _A boring week later, Joy sat front row at the group’s next meeting. She was starting to wonder about the blind trust she’d put in Mother Dana. Wasn’t it a little, well, cult-y to insist everyone in the coven call her by the same name as their patron goddess? Little nibbles of worry had been pricking her conscious all week, and sitting in the badly-lit basement of a deconsecrated church only amped up her worry._

 _“So she did it to you, too,” Pauline, a fellow new member, said when she saw Joy cradling her book to her breast like a newborn baby. “Honey, that’s no sacred thing. It’s a bunch of stuff photocopied from some coloring book. She gave me one when I was starting out and it did nothing for me, either.”_

 _Anger filled Joy. She really should have noticed….damn it. “ I’ve been carrying this around with me for nothing?”_

 _“Mother Dana told me it’s a trust exercise. You passed it.”_

 _“Well, fuck this!” She gathered her handbag and made for the door – Mother Dana swooped down seemingly from out of nowhere and down upon her._

 _“Where are you going?” she snapped._

 _“Home. I figured out your little game,” she snapped._

“I was so pissed,” Joy laughed. “Two years combing this whole damn city for a decent circle and the first one I try screws me over. So I went on this long rant, which ended with…”

 _“…and don’t think I won’t tell every paper in town about you! I know someone who actually works on the Phoenix! What do you think about that?”_

 _Mother Dana’s gaze had become unfocused. She looked beyond Joy and beyond the abandoned church basement where the meeting was being held. “Go,” she told her._

 _“And I’m taking this with me!” she shrieked, holding up the book._

 _“GO. NOW. GO AS FAR AS YOU CAN!” Her voice held a strange urgency to it that Joy only noticed with hindsight._

 _“Oh, you better believe I will!” with that, Joy stalked out of the room. It was so dark outside, and it was past midnight – the buses weren’t running. She stumbled home by the light of the streetlamps…_

“That’s where I come in,” Ash said.

 _It was luck. Pure blind luck. He’d been heading up the street, trying to figure out what the hell to do next. He could fight them off for awhile, but not forever._

 _He didn’t see the person holding the book as much as the book itself. It looked old – it had the image of a woman pressed into the surface – there were pictures on onionskin paper of beautiful things and words written in some language he couldn’t read._

 _It was like the Necromicon. If the Necromicon had been written by a bunch of chicks._

 _He didn’t think twice about grabbing it, despite the woman’s protests._

 _“You fucking asshole!”_

 _He’d been called worse before, and hit harder. Running up the street, he lost her – running up the street he paged through the book and it’s strange spells. Healing of the dead… **Lying to rest of demons….**_

 _“YES.”_

 _The cackling had grown louder, but for some reason he wasn’t even afraid anymore._

 

***

“Long story short, me and the book banish ‘em all back to hell. Two months later, Sheila falls out of my ceiling. The end.”

Louie stood up and began to applaud. “Dude, that should be a movie!”

Ash snorted. “My life’s more like a bad Tom and Jerry cartoon.”

Joy offered something better. “No – it’s a Meatloaf song.”

“BITCHIN! IT SO IS!” Louie began singing, “Thefireswerescreamingandthewindswerehowlingwaydowninthevalleytonight…”

Louie kept singing, but the rest of them had gone quiet. Joy finally said. “That thing really saved the world?”

“I think I had a little something to do with it,” Ash retorted shortly.

She didn’t acknowledge that. “I…guess Mother Dana wasn’t a fraud? And she really could see into the future?”

“Uh huh.”

Joy stared at her hands. “And…you’re not in the white slave trade?” Ash’s eyes crossed as he tried to keep up with her leaping mind. “Well, Sheila called you her ‘lord’ and she seems normalized but not from a non-third-world-country…I thought she’d been kidnapped from some obscure British colony and sent to America against her will…”

Sheila leapt in. “I gave thee no such idea through my discourse.”

“No – I guess I just jumped ahead. My mind goes strange places sometimes.” Joy coughed – she noticed Ash’s smirk and couldn’t stand it. “It’s not like she has a picture of you so I’d be able to put two and two together and make demon slayer lemonade.” Joy concluded. “I’m not the one who’s psychic.”

“Yeah, you’re just a psycho.”

“M’Lord!” Sheila corrected sharply.

Ash ignored her. “Why the hell do you want the book back, anyway?”

“I don’t really want it back. There’s no coven to bring it back TO. They were all possessed and killed…I think you know how.” Ash actually looked guilty then, which made Joy feel pretty bad, too. “Okay, I went off on you without knowing the details, and I’m sorry. I thought you were some kind of psychopath and the idea of you having that much power didn’t sit too well with me. You have to admit you weren’t exactly an angel back there…” Ash rolled his eyes, but that did get a nod. “I’m sorry I maced you. I don’t like being touched out of the blue like that…And now that I think about it,” she added more sheepishly, “you can’t really do evil with Celtic majik…” she laughed nervously. The story and all of its sharp objects had made her just a little bit nervous.

Sheila sounded quite tired when she said, “m’Lord…”

“I’m sorry I grabbed you,” Ash snorted, the look he shot at Sheila saying ‘happy now’?

Louie grinned stupidly at them. “Rock! Now you can be compadres!” he chirped.

“Let’s just say we’ll agree to tolerate each other,” Joy offered.

“Sounds fine to me,” Ash responded. He offered his left hand. “Shake on it?”

Joy sighed and took his hand.

Louie protested, “no way, man! Buddies don’t shake – they hug!”

Ash glared at Louie, but Sheila just glowed at the idea. “Do I…”

“Please, m’lord?” Sheila asked.

Joy’s spine stiffened. “Well, I’m not gonna…”

“Please, Joy?” That was Louie wheedling. Why the hell had he remembered her name?

Ash looked at Joy and shrugged. Just to get it over with, Joy leaned over in her chair, seized Ash abruptly, squeezed him hard, and let go. The force of motion nearly made him fall out of his chair.

“Yeah, well, now that that’s settled the two of us have to get back,” she got up and moved toward the door. “C’mon, Sheila…”

That was when Louie threw himself bodily across the table.

“I’m goin’ to the Laser Zepplin show at the planetarium Sunday. …”

“Uh….” She stared at his eager face for a moment. “I’ve got a lot to do Sunday…”

“My band’s playing the Bear Saturday!” he nearly bounced in his seat.

Mildly impressed, she remarked, “huh, you have a band?”

“Yep! We’re Splattergörr. Two Rs,” he said.

Suddenly remarkably less impressed, she remarked, “oh. Well, I’ve got to be going.”

He grinned at her. “I’ll be seeing you, Joy.”

“Uh –huh. We’re gonna be late, Sheila.”

Sheila was hugging Ash, and the both of them seemed oblivious to everything else. Joy’s coughing and Louie’s sighing finally got through to them, and Ash pushed Sheila back a little bit, gently. “I’m gonna get soda on you, baby.” Joy knew it was a lame excuse but Sheila bought it immediately.

“Twould serve me,” she replied humbly.

He scraped a little blob of soda-syrup off of his shoulder and dabbed her nose with it. “There. Let’s call it even.”

She smiled for him. “Shall see thee in the eve?”

“Yeah, I get off at six.” Louie was grinning and reaching out with his palm flat and in the air, but Ash didn’t seem to be in the mood for a double-entandre-five.

Joy turned toward the break room door and opened it, wanting to escape their intimacy and yet admitting to herself that they were sort of cute together.

“Go,” Ash told her, standing, helping her up. “You don’t wanna lose your job.”

Sheila had been entranced, but his words put her back into business mode. “Care for thy eyes,” she instructed, following Joy.

“Don’t worry, Lady S! I’ll be his seeing eye dude!” Louie piped.

Ash’s long-suffering groan was followed by a series of expletives and protestations that he could see perfectly well. They were terribly amusing and Joy sort of wanted to see who would win the argument, but there were appointments to keep. And apparently at least one of them needed to be a grown up.

***

When Ash arrived home just after the sun had set, he found Sheila lying flat on her back on the sofa, her eyes peacefully closed. A chill ran through him – from that particular angle she looked exactly as she had on the ground that night…

She stirred a little, moaning softly. “M’lord?”

“Yeah,” he closed the door – it boomed shut in the silent apartment. “You okay?”

“Dizzy,” she said. “Stood too quick.”

“You gonna puke again?” One more stain on the carpet wouldn’t matter, but her dignity would be pinched, and he would probably suffer for it.

She shook her head and moaned. “Just dizzy.”

He had moved toward the refrigerator. “Want anything?” He opened it and was momentarily astounded by the number of brown-stained take-out containers hidden therein.

She opened one eye. “Thou should not serve thyself…”

“I’m not helpless,” he insisted. He cautiously selected a container and peeled back the lid; the smell which wafted up to greet Ash made him reel back. He dumped the offending container into the trash. “Let’s order out. Last offer, baby.” She peered at him blankly.

“Later in the eve,” she begged. “When my head is clear.”

“Suit yourself,” he started rifling through a kitchen drawer, which finally coughed up a takeout menu from a Chinese restaurant. After a few minutes of study, he called, “d’you like vegetables?”

Sheila sighed. “Aye. And beef.”

“M’kay…” he picked up the phone and dialed. Wen Li from the Red Fan took his order happily - a number four and a number ten with a side of egg rolls, hold the duck sauce please. He also made Ash say ‘groovy’, and Ash complied in an annoying, squeaky, high-pitched voice before returning the receiver to its original place.

That was when he heard Sheila laugh.

It was a sound she’d never made in front of him before – so light and beautiful and amazingly girlish that it should have been part of another person, one who didn’t have her fire. That she could still laugh like that, after everything they’d been through together - everything he’d left her to face alone – amazed him.

Sheila was blushing, a hand over her lips, by the time he managed to strip off his work uniform and painfully-tight shoes. The tie would go next. “That’s gotta be your dizzy,” he remarked, sitting down on the floor next to the couch – within reaching distance of her, “you never laugh at my jokes.”

“Perhaps thy humor has never seemed….humorous…to me afore,” she suggested.

“You’re telling me I’m not funny?” Ash knew he was hilarious – for all of the wrong reasons.

Sheila took his hand – the right. “Mayhaps. But we’ve not had a reason to laugh together before, m’lord.”

“What about the hayloft?”

She smiled. “Ye were too busy kissing me in the hayloft to do aught more.”

He nodded, feigning thoughtfulness. “You’re right, baby. And after that, your mouth was really busy for a very long time.”

Her little fist socked him in the shoulder, leaving him to rub it and wince. Ash laughed – mostly in disbelief, for she could hit pretty damn hard for someone so small.

She scooted forward and kissed his shoulder. “My apologies,” she murmured.

“I shouldn’t’ve called you baby,” he pretended to cower. “I’ll stop! Just don’t hit me again…”

“Tis fine. I promised not to call thee Ashley, but ‘tis a habit I’ve picked up.”

“S’ok. I like the way you say my name.” He petted her fingers. “But don’t do it in public.” He knew it was a useless request.

She moved closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder. “M’Lord, did ye like Joy?”

Now a contemptuous snort emerged from his throat. “When she wasn’t trying to kill me.”

“I do want thee to like her,” Sheila admitted, her lips brushing the back of his neck. “Art a kind woman, inside. And very original!”

“You pick up strays like they’re going out of style,” he remarked.

“La? And what be thee?” Her left arm slipped around him, hand resting upon his chest.  
“Baby, I’m the pick of the liter,” he smirked.

“Ahh, then thy knave is the runt. Small, but always special.” Coquettishly, she began playing with his ear lobes. “Did ye finish thy argument with him, m’lord?”

He’d forgotten all about his eyes, and about Louie. “I got him to shut up after awhile. He wouldn’t stop going on about Joy for an hour.”

“La?”

“He called her a ‘choice Wahine,’” Ash shrugged. “I grabbed him by the collar and told him to stop talking like that.”

“Art defending Joy?”

“Nah – I thought he was talking about you.” Ash triumphed over his tie and slung it over the arm of the sofa. “Now I owe him a beer.” At that point, the phone rang. “Ugh – lemme get it.” He got up, strolled to the kitchen and picked it up. “Joe’s crematorium – you kill ‘em, we grill ‘em.”

“Ashley, where the hell have you been?”

He immediately, reflexively, deepened his voice. “Hi, dad.”

His father’s husky voice sharpened. “I’ve been calling you every day for the past two weeks. Your mother is worried sick…”

“Did you say Ashley’s name?” his mother trilled in the background, her thick Wisconsin accent distinctive through the fuzz. “Bob, is it him?”

Muffled, Ash heard, “Yes, it’s Ashley.”

“Oh, honey, are you okay?” she cried.

“Tell her I’m fine,” Ash requested.

“He says he’s fine,” Bob translated. “Your sister is dead,” he uttered, without preamble. “We’ve been holding up the service for a week waiting to hear from you. Where the hell have you been?”

In an instant, he was reduced to a four-year old. “Haven’t you been watching the news?”

“Yes, you little wise-ass…” his father snarled. “I saw you on the news French-kissing some bimbo after saving the world. Good job. Glad you don’t have time for your family anymore.”

Ash made a pathetic noise –it was all he could do to defend himself. “Look, work’s been hard…”

“Welcome to adulthood,” he retorted.

“Dad…”

“Are you coming or not, Ashley? Long distance is expensive, and I don’t have the money to waste on dead air.”

Ash knew he wouldn’t be able to resist it – knew that he had to see Cheryl off. “Yeah.”

“Fine. It’s this weekend. Saturday at noon.”

He decided quickly. “I’ll be there. Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Is grandma coming?”

A long, deep sigh. “Yes, Ash – to my probable everlasting regret, grandma will be there. Now I need to hang up.”

Ash grinned. “So long, Dad.”

He returned the receiver to its cradle and turned to find Sheila watching. “Art troubled,” she declared.

He shook his head. “It’s fine.”

She moved up on the couch, opened her arms. “My dear, I see it in thy eyes.”

Ash realized suddenly that she expected him to run to her for comfort. Instead he just looked at her. “I have a shitty relationship with my dad.”

“What hath he wrought in thy heart?” she wondered.

“Just the typical stuff,” he shrugged. “I didn’t grow up to be the man he wanted me to be. So he’s pissed off.” Ash had long ago convinced himself that his father’s opinion didn’t matter, but a tiny sting echoed inside of him at that confession.

He must have transmitted his own disappointments too obviously. “Come to me,” she requested. He rolled his eyes, but walked to the sofa. She scooted backward, until there was enough room for him to lie down in front of her, and she patted the space.

Ash sat down, then somehow managed to lay down, his chest pressed against hers, the growing baby cradled safely between them. Sheila then simply wrapped her arms around him and held on as if she would never let go.

He didn’t understand what she was trying to accomplish, but it felt good. In the morning, when he woke up in her arms with his work clothing hopelessly wrinkled and a deep hunger gnawing at him, he saw her sweet little face and felt the tightness of her hold. Fierce, faithful little Sheila.

And then Ash knew why she’d spent the whole night holding him so tightly as he rolled out of her arms and onto the floor, his ass hitting the wood hard.

She’d been trying to save him from falling.


	6. On Your Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ash takes Sheila to meet his parents and clashes with his alcoholic father, then has a strange dream.

“Our father’s house is a house of regret. Rooms I can’t sleep in. Jokes I don’t get.” – Amy Ray, “On Your Honor”

***

At six in the morning everything turned a haunting but lovely shade of blue he’d never seen before. While pretty, it scattered Ash’s poor paranoid brain to pieces - prepared for anything, he hit his turn-signal and pulled the car onto the shoulder. There, after parking it, he retrieved the shotgun from the floor of his Bravada and glared malevolently into the distance.

Minutes passed by, slower than the cars flying past on this twin-lane highway – nothing happened. He spared Sheila a glance to reassure himself of her safety; less than ten minutes into their journey she’d curled up against the passenger side door and had stayed asleep for the remainder of the trip. Satisfied, he replaced the gun and took a minute to just watch her. Ash grinned like an idiot; he didn’t have the words to explain how good she looked, like a misplaced princess from a forgotten fairytale.

He laughed at himself. A princess she wasn’t, and he wasn’t her knight in shining armor, but Ash couldn’t really help himself from thinking of fairytales when he saw her. Well, twisted fairytales, complete with demons playing fairy god…whatevers. He frowned to himself, completely aware of the fact that Sheila was wrecking the last sane bits of his brain.

He was also completely aware of the fact that the wall he’d mentally constructed between them had begun to buckle. He’d felt himself give in that afternoon, when he’d picked her up from work and found her standing on the sidewalk. She was at the center of a group of women, laughing, kindness personified. She’d turned, caught sight of him and gave him a beautiful grin.

It was then that he realized he liked her.

A childish way to put it, but he felt it fitting. He’d wanted her body for at least a century and a week and had cared about her a day or so less than that, but his feelings had gone beyond ‘friendship’ and ‘lust’. ‘Love’ brought him back to Linda. So he’d arrived at the word and claimed it; he liked Sheila, and that was that.

He wasn’t going to tell her, though, having already worked out that little scene in his mind:

 _Hey, Sheila baby – I like you._

 _Like me? La, M’Lord. I carry thy babe. Pay me proper address, or address me not at all._

Ash knew exactly what she was waiting for, but he wasn’t going to cheapen the words by saying them without feeling their meaning. He grimaced. _Again._

Yet he defied anyone – anything- to take her away from him again.

It was better to focus on the present. He glanced quickly at the sky. Nothing coming at him, nothing up ahead. Except for his father…

Ash’s fingers tightened on the wheel, knuckles on the left hand whitening as he passed the too-familiar road sign hidden among the new spring grass.

 **Niles welcomes you.**

***

“And this is Sheila!”

His hand pressed firmly against her lower back, pushing her forward on the stoop. Ash showed her off and silently reminded her of his presence in one gesture; Sheila felt safe in this exhibition, and so she pushed down the foolish bleating concern tugging her nerves. All of her training as a castellan had, after all, prepared her for the eventuality of charming complete strangers.

She’d never counted on the disapproving stares currently dancing over her skin. They make her lift her chin high and her dark eyes burn with banked anger.

The man – Bob, Ash had called him - towered over her and resembled her beloved so strongly that his frown cut her to the quick. Beside him stood a green-eyed woman with graying light brown hair and a much more sympathetic expression.

Bob’s eyes had fastened upon her belly, disgust quite evident in his expression. “Your girlfriend just died. Where the hell did you find the time to meet her?” he finally asked, poking a finger in Sheila’s direction.

“Let’s just say she surprised me,” Ash told him in a blunt, final tone. Bob paused significantly, one eyebrow up, and Ash’s left hand shot out and pulled Sheila firmly backward.

His mother, apparently used to such storms, instantly grasped both of Sheila’s hands and pulled them both into the house. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” she cooed. “Sheila, did you say your name was? ASHLEY, she’s beautiful. I’m June Williams. Oh, you look just RADIENT. ASHLEY, why didn’t you tell me about her?”

“Sorry, mom. I know we haven’t talked in centuries…” Sheila’s brow furrowed at his silly joke, and it sailed right over his mother’s head. “I met Sheila a long time ago, then we lost touch. A month ago, she dropped in of me out of nowhere.” He laughed, sounding half-mad as he gave them all a desperate, cheesy sort of smile, receiving the predictable stares of bitter confusion in return.

No matter how Sheila resented her lord’s jokes, she couldn’t force herself to reprimand him – instead, she turned and faced his mother. “Aye, milady. My name is Sheila Pendragon.”

“Please call me June. Poor thing, you must be EXHAUSTED.” June immediately stood at Sheila’s side, pulling her out of Ash’s grip and wrapping an arm around her waist as they walked to the kitchen. “Did you come all the way here straight from England?”

Sheila could hear a soft, muffled snorting noise emanate from behind her as Ash desperately tried to stop himself from laughing. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to stop herself from driving an elbow into his flesh. “Aye…’twas a long journey, but I believe I shall stay.” The idea made him very quiet, and in silence they finally made it to the back part of the couch and the kitchen.

They entered the kitchen, which had a large window over the sink and was yellow-surfaced. Sheila managed to seat herself with some amount of grace behind the white table, Ash taking a chair to her left and his father remaining in the doorway, hovering over them all like a stormcloud. June proceeded to the counter. “No better place than America to begin again,” she glanced over her shoulder at Sheila’s shirt. “Should I ask what a ‘Splattergörr’ is?”

“Please don’t,” Ash requested, plucking a banana from the rattan fruit bowl sitting before them and peeling it very slowly.

“Tis a gift from our friend Louie.” Sheila grinned. “Art a minstrel.”

“I thought you said his name was Louie…” mumbled June. She turned back toward the counter and began pouring cups of coffee. “Bob, would you like…”

“Nothing for me,” Bob said briskly.

“All right.” There was a numb ring to June’s voice, but she smiled as she came to the table with the cups. “I have a breakfast casserole in the oven, it’ll be ready in five minutes…” She sat down at Sheila’s right. “So, how did the two of you meet?”

Sheila stared at her coffee and grew very, very quiet, as she expected Ash to speak for the both of them. It should have occurred to her that he had been unable to lie to the thin air – and that his mother posed a much more formidable challenge. After an excessively long pause he said, “Student union. We met at the student union. I was playing foosball and she was standing in front of the soda machine. Our eyes met…”

“Your eyes met?” June wondered.

Ash stuffed half of the banana into his mouth and chewed it to a pulp, buying himself more time while he sent Sheila a frantic glance.

“Aye, our eyes met,” Sheila began. “Tho, Ash, thee misremembers our first meeting. ‘Twas in the gymnasium,” she peered at him over the coffee, sipping it cautiously, finding it fresh and rich. “At dueling class.”

He brightened up instantly. “Yeah!” he praised, finishing off the banana. “That’s how it happened.”

Sheila felt a mild jolt of astonishment as she continued to lie rapidly. “I took the early advantage, tho he rallied well. E’ve become evenly matched since, I think.” Guilt stabbed her senses and she began wondering again about the existence of absolution in this particular world.

“I wish you’d stay away from sharp things,” sighed June. She said to Sheila, “he chopped a hole in his shin when he was five….”

“Oh God,” Ash snorted.

“I still want to know how you got your hands on that axe…” June noticed Sheila’s nervous expression. “He was breaking up wood. For, might I add, a fire we told him not to build …”

“I wanted to make s’mores,” he said lamely.

A sigh. “He always worried me so much MORE than Cheryl did. Now he’s a HERO and Cheryl…” The room went quiet. After a tender minute, June smiled at Sheila, her eyes resting on the ever-growing bulge of her stomach. “You’ll know what it’s like soon enough, sweetheart. I hope being so far from home agrees with you.”

Sheila smiled. “Worry not. All I wish for art close by.”

“Art’s the father?” June asked, fearing her presumption wrong.

“Art gets around,” Ash declared, his smile only subtly mocking.

Mercifully, the kitchen timer rang, sparing them further discussion of poor ol’art.

***

The picture occupied a central spot on the Williams family mantelpiece. Sheila spent a moment staring at it before plucking it up and holding the frame just a little closer.

A little boy of no more than four peered back at her from under a floppy red winter hat, bundled in a navy jacket and dragging behind him a Radio Flyer. In the wagon sat a dark-haired toddler, similarly bundled in a pink snowsuit. She laughed guilelessly, her mouth wide and her eyes crinkled; the boy wore an expression of determination, but his eyes glowed with joy.

She felt his warm body behind her, and automatically leaned into him. “Ye’ve changed little, m’lord.”

She could feel Ash shrug. “Thought I got cuter.”

Sheila replaced the picture carefully. “Mayhaps,” she teased. “Thy sister was a lovely girl.”

He studied the picture. “We were best friends back then,” he said.

Sheila frowned. “Were?”

“Til I was five. Then I started school.” Apparently letting that statement fill in for several more, he wrapped an arm around Sheila’s middle. “After that, we fought all the time.”

Sheila smiled, rather faintly – she turned in his arms, pushing his hand to the middle of her back. “La. ‘Twas the same with Lucian and I – the fighting. He was my junior, however, so the roles reverse.”

“We were as different as they come, yanno. I had no idea what the hell I was going to do when I got out of high school, so I tried everything I could. Cheryl always knew who she was. And she was good at it; she could draw anything…Bet her old sketchpads are still upstairs…” Sheila understood that he spoke simply to process his feelings, so she remained quiet. “We were just starting to get along again when I moved to Dearborn. Then she started school and I got wrapped up in Linda...” He ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Wish I got to say goodbye, I guess.”

Sheila reaching up for him, her arms around his neck in a moment – she had expected to see tears in his eyes, but they were dry. “I told Lucian goodbye in my dreams,” she told him. “Ye may reach Cheryl there, m’lord.”

He managed a smirk for her. “Dead things don’t listen to me.”

“Tush.” She traced the shape of his mouth with her fingertips. “The departed have been good to us. Did they not bring ye to us? And allow you the succor of my fire that ye might give us the mite of a babe I carry?”

Ash gave her a long-suffering sigh. “Sheila, the book did the first part,” he explained, as if she were a toddler.

Her chin jutted stubbornly. “And the second?”

Ash lowered his head, bringing their lips nearly together. “That was you and me.”

“Aye,” she conceded. Her smile turned wicked. “And shall we give credit to the ‘sugar’ as well?”

That made him laugh; his left hand shifted from her back to her stomach and made a meandering, gentle circle. “Yeah. You do give good sugar.”

Sheila huffed a sigh at his sport-making. “Ye lack faith, m’lord. I shall be forced to supply it for both of us.”

He reached for the frame, put it back on the mantle, and dipped his head. Kissing her senseless was an excellent way to shut Sheila up.

To her frustration, he did so.

***

Ash hadn’t seen the inside of his parent’s bedroom in a year. Opening the door, he blinked, confronted by more than his father’s image; his mother’s Gone with the Wind collection had expanded to swamp the decor of the entire room. Creeped out, Ash occupied the doorframe, eyeing the chorus line of Rhett and Scarlet figures sitting on the tv stand.

Bob sat in a high backed red chair, occupying the room’s corner with a similar determination, a bottle of whisky dangling from his fingertips. He looked bloated and ill.

“Dad, dinner’s ready.”

“I’m coming.” Ash turned to leave the room when Bob added, in the most sarcastic tone of voice possible, “congratulations.” Ash had become apt at collecting his father’s bitter sarcasm and returning it, drop for drop. Bob continued, “twenty three with no degree and a minimum-wage job, and you think you’re ready to be someone’s father.”

“I told Sheila we should sell the kid to the gypsies for beer money, but she wouldn’t go for it.”

“If you’re going to be a smartass,” Bob paused to take a draught from the bottle, “leave. I’m in no mood to put up with you.”

When had his father ever been in the mood to put up with him? Ash remembered Bob as an exhausted specter slumped over a tv dinner, unless it involved his schoolwork or anything resembling an athletic event.

“What are you going to do about that girl?” Bob asked the bottle.

Ash had come to Niles completely prepared for someone to ask him this. “Look after her. And take care of the kid.”

“Yeah. You SHOULD do the right thing and make her an honest woman before the baby’s born a bastard. But we both know what’s gonna happen,” he smiled grimly. “You’re gonna run.”

His father’s gall momentarily surprised Ash. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bob laughed. “You’ve never finished a damn thing in your life! You used to break up with girls by changing jobs and you avoid graduating by switching majors every other year. You even left her back in the thirteen hundreds so you wouldn’t have to own up to what you did there.” Ash’s jaw dropped. His father smugly concluded, “unlike your mother, I read the newspapers.”

He recovered quickly. “You’re not going to tell me what to do with my life again.”

“No. But I’m sure as hell not going to clean up your mess when this thing blows up in your face.” Bob said flatly.

They just stared each other down.

“Tell me you’re taking your finals next month.” Unfortunately, his father well recognized Ash’s evasive expression. “Of course. You haven’t switched majors again, have you?”

 _Like the last two times_ went unsaid. “Why do you give a shit? You’re not paying my bills.”

“Because you need to have a little responsibility pounded into your skull.” Bob gave his child a look of pure pity. “Dammnit, Ashley, what the hell are you going to DO with your life?”

Ash’s jaw tightened. “Beats the shit out of me, Bob. ”

Bob grimaced. “That kid’s depending on you, and that’s all you can say?”

Ash looked away. “Yeah. Look, I don’t need your help to figure it out.”

“If you’d just let me put in a good word for you at Ford…”

He shuddered at that old remnant of his pre-planned future. “NO.”

“You’re a hard worker,” his father informed him, the compliment momentarily stunning Ash. “They’d start you out on the line but you wouldn’t stay there for long.”

“I make more at S-Mart.”

“Oh, bullshit.”

“I’m happy where I am.” Ash stared at his metal fist. He knew exactly who he was now - an unmovable object. With his denial, his father had ceased being the irresistible force. Pity arrived to amaze him.

Comically, on this realization, Tara’s Theme swelled majestically in the background.

“Dammit,” Bob muttered, downing another sip of the alcohol and shuddering. “That fuckin’ movie again…”

“You know she puts it on whenever she’s upset.”

“Yeah. Better go rescue your girl. Ashley?”

“Yeah?”

“I understand.”

 _I doubt it_ danced on the tip of his tongue. He instead chose silence and the closed door.

***

“Honey,” Ash’s grandmother said as she pulled him into a strong embrace, “you better call me every week from now on, ay?”

Ash ‘oofed’ softly as his grandmother pulled him into a strong embrace. She smeared his cheek with a streak of Tangee lipstick and pinched his ears. “I promise, Gram…OW.”

She pushed him backward a bit, staring at him. She poked his chest “And where the hell’s my teeshirt, eh?”

“Coming. Are you still in Oaklawn?”

“Ayup. D’your mama tell you the activity director’s gonna let me teach jazz?” she pointed out.

Ash was so thoroughly distracted that the tension he’d been harboring for the past few hours dissolved away on a laugh. Predictably, Gram Betty smiled at him, flashing him a line of perfect white teeth and causing her hazel eyes to sparkle. He teased, “nah. I knew they couldn’t keep you still for long, Gram. How’s your hip?”

“Healed up,” she proved her point by doing an impromptu time-step. He suddenly knew exactly where he’d gotten his stamina from. Her performance earns another laugh as he retrieved her coat and hat.

When he bent to help her into it, Gram Betty whispered into his ear, “your father’s hiding his whisky in the armoire.”

Ash snickered into her neck. “How long’d it take you to find the bottle?”

A little shift of the shoulders. “Two minutes. Your girlfriend was watchin’ me like a hawk. Left just enough for you.”

“Thanks. Don’t make too much out of it - Sheila probably thinks you’re breakable.”

“Now who gave her that cockamamie idea?” Gram Betty was still as sharp as she’d been when she danced in the Follies – back when, she swore, she’d dated a very famous bootlegger. Ash just laughed at her question as he helped his grandmother into her red peacoat and cloche hat. Betty peeked around her grandson, to take another look at Sheila. The poor girl had been roped into another showing of Gone with the Wind by June – and she watched it with the same fixed absorption that had marked the other three showings she’d endured in the past forty-eight hours. “Sheila’s a nice girl,” Betty observed. “A little tetched, but nice.”

“Don’t call her tetched.” The protectiveness in his voice surprised Ash – he’d called her worse, after all.

Betty watched his reaction. “No – just a tad shy, I suppose. That won’t last long if she’s staying with you.” This was her way of asking him about his intentions.

Since she asked more politely than his father had, she got a nicer answer. “If it happens,” he told her, “I’ll tell you first.”

“You better, buster!” She tucked her hat firmly against her thinning but neatly bobbed dark hair. “You take care of each other, eh?”

It was the first time anyone had hinted that he might need looking after – an idea that felt ludicrous to him but seemed apropos coming from his grandmother. “We’ll try” he said, and helped her over the threshold and down the pathway, where her cab waited.

Ash returned to a nearly silent house. His mother and Sheila were engrossed in the movie, and Bob washed dishes in the kitchen, producing a heavy metallic clanking noise. No one noticed his entrance – further emboldened, Ash snuck to the armoire, retrieved the whisky, and treaded to the staircase.

Ascending the stairs, he briefly considered the strangeness of the day. Cheryl’s service had been held in the middle of the afternoon at the church they’d attended since their parent’s retirement – a place where no one knew them. The services spartan, practical and without sentiment - clearly arranged by his father. Ash conversely knew what his mother had picked; Cheryl’s favorite flowers carpeted the aisles, and her boyfriend Gordon came and sat weeping trails of eyeliner into a handful of white roses.

Afterward, at his parent’s place, the relatives skittered through the house like cockroaches, producing mounds of food that he could barely digest, milling around his parent’s kitchen uselessly, spouting out folksy bits of wisdom...

 _Such a tragedy she was so young and so talented look at poor Gordon fetch him something he’s breaking down again now be gentler with Bob you know what he had to do and look at Ash isn’t he holding up well?_

Ash tolerated – nearly – the questions posed to him _no, he had no idea what happened to his car but wasn’t the new one great? Power drive not that it’s useful out here ha ha_ Memories circulated in the air _yes he remembered the time they went to Manitoba together and they all camped out under the stars and everything was perfect back then he was ten_ but none of them seemed to make him feel much of anything. His relatives gracelessly ignored Sheila, or called her Linda in sympathetic tones, or pointedly stared at her stomach and her bare left hand. Gram Betty proved Ash’s sole consolation – entertaining Sheila with her Ziegfeld Follies stories _Florenz was going to marry me but he couldn’t get clear of his wife, so I had to settle for this ring and a chintz gown from Bloomies_ that he’d heard a million times but took on a new charm in Sheila’s amazed reaction. _I had Junie when I was thirty-five. The jag off ob told me she’d probably be a mongoloid. Boy howdy, we shoulda sued his kiester…_

He paused by Cheryl’s room, the one marked with a white posterboard sign reading “Voici La Chambre Mysterieuse” in elegant script and decorated all over with blue ballpoint pen flowers. On the doorknob a handmade paper hanger reading KEEP OUT THIS MEANS YOU ASH. It was unlocked, and he stepped inside before he fully understood what he was doing.

The ways in which they’d opposed each immediately other rose up to confront Ash. Cheryl’s bedside table contained a stack of paperbacks, all fiction or poetry, all female authors (Wolfe, Barret-Browning, Plath, Sexton, Powell, Moore) and a pile of cassette tapes lay between the spread prongs of her headset (Smith, Mitchell, Armatrading, Nyro – she would play “Chelsea Morning” endlessly on her cheap Cassio until he was forced to drum his feet against the wall separating their rooms and demand that she _fucking shut that off, Cher, I’m trying to study_ …) . The bed was a mussed nest of pillows – no one had bothered to make it after…

Her art supplies covered the desk. Sketchbooks lay an inch thick, spread open, revealing new work. Sticks of charcoal lay nearby _her fingers were always stained with it_ and the pencils she hoarded - he used to steal them, just to have something to chew on. He picked a pale green pad up and carried it with him.

The walls were plastered with posters – Frida Kahlo weeping, her body a broken column, nails jutting out of her breasts, comingling with glamour shots of the lipstick-smudged members of Poison.

He sat down on the edge of her bed, spreading open the book and flicking through the pages, swigging the whisky. He caught sight of a rendering of himself sitting on the desk chair, holding an apple in “contemplation” _I never did say I was sorry for being an asshole that day._ He finished off the bottle and closed his eyes tightly. It was easier for him to remember that way…

 _His wrist shook from the effort it took to hold still. “Done yet?” he asked._

 _Cheryl stooped over her sketchpad, deep in thought, her right hand moving furiously. “Just let me get…one little…ASH. Uncross those eyes right now, or I’ll call mom!”_

 _He responded by flipping her off with his free hand._

 _That was a mistake. Her scream was legendary. “MOM, Ash just gave me the finger!” June responded by turning the volume on her TV up as loud as she could and they winced as the too-familiar strains of “Tara’s Theme” filled the room._

 _“Break?” he begged her._

 _“No,” she scowled. “It’s so close to being finished!”_

 _“You said that an hour ago,” he whined. “My hand’s gonna break off at the wrist.”_

 _“Huh,” she remarked. “Better finish up, then. You’ll need it after Linda dumps you.” Deliberately, she glanced up at him, just to enjoy his horrified expression._

 _“Can’t you get your BOYfriend to do this?” he asked. How he loved teasing her about her drippy geek of a companion, who had scoffed at dinner when Ash announced his favorite actress was Pam Grier._

 _“I have too many sketches of Gordon,” she ruefully announced. “You’re just a portfolio filler.” A few more strokes of the charcoal and she held the pad out for him._

 _“Thanks.” Ash peeked and was, as always, somewhat impressed by his sister’s ability. “Not bad,” he said mildly._

 _She sniffed. “Gee, I thought you’d be proud of me, fuckface.”_

 _“MOM. CHERYL CALLED ME FUCKFACE.”_

 _“…GREAT BALLS OF FIRE. DON’T BOTHER ME ANYMORE, AND DON’T CALL ME SUGAR,” responded Scarlet O’Hara._

 _“You should be honored,” Cheryl told him in private, conversational tones. “That’s what Elizabeth Taylor used to call Richard Burton.”_

 _Ash only snorted at that little revelation. He watched her rub at the edge of a line with her eraser. “I’m proud of you,” he said, finding it suddenly vitally important to let her in on that fact._

 _“I know you are. I just wish this were a bigger deal with mom and dad.” Their parents wanted Cheryl to do something practical with her talent, advertising or design, but she wanted to see the world. Cheryl planned on spending her spring break “experimenting with oils” in Italy while Gordon busked for cash – considering her boyfriend’s songwriting and guitar-playing ability, Ash really couldn’t blame his parents for freaking out about it. She tossed her eraser at Ash. “Earth to Assley!”_

 _“I’m listening,” he lied._

 _She pretended to be impressed. “Wow, you almost sounded like a therapist there! At least you’re a few credits closer to being a big shot.”_

 _He wriggled in the hard wooden seat. “Uh - don’t tell dad, but I switched majors.”_

 _She dropped the chunk of charcoal onto her pad, marring her work. “Again? Ash…”_

 _“Yeah, yeah, I know. Therapy’s not my bag, sis. I’ll make a better science teacher.”_

 _Cheryl crossed her arms over her chest. “Like you were going to make a good mechanic, firefighter and white knight?”_

 _He put on a serious face and said quite authoritatively, “you had to bring up the Renaissance fair,” he grunted. “And you left out cowboy.”_

 _The memories returned: of a brother and sister in chervil chaps running through the back yard with a box of Yellow Zonkers between them and plastic six-shooters strapped to their sides, black velvet cowboy hats cinched under their chins. They stalked each other on the street in front of the apartment, throwing the candied popcorn when they were “shot” (YOU GOT ME OW), sneaking up to their father when he came home from the line. **Bang bang, daddy. Bang, bang, bang.** _

_Cheryl was laughing. “I’m going to miss you.”_

 _“I won’t be so far away. I’ll drive down and see you sometime.”_

 _Her entire expression changed. “Ash,” she said more seriously, “I’m going to miss you.” This…wasn’t how the conversation had gone on that day. He stared at her blankly for a good minute. She rolled the charcoal between her fingers nervously. “I knew this was a bad idea. Linda’s, you know. She said I should see you before I go back in…” His dead-eyed look caused her to chortle. “Ashley, you believe in demons. How can you not believe in reincarnation?”_

 _Now he was certain it was a trick and Ash began groping for a rifle that wasn’t strapped to his back or lying anywhere nearby._

 _His sister sighed. “You can’t kill me, stupid. I’m an angel.”_

 _His fists balled ineffectually in his lap. “Prove it.”_

 _She gave him a withering look. “I can’t. Coming down here and seeing you without clearance is gonna get me in enough trouble.” He gave her a blunt, icy glare. “If I were some kind of scary ancient demon thing, wouldn’t I have tried to kill you by now? Deadites aren’t exactly SUBTLE, are they?”_

 _“Yeah, if they need to be, they are.” They were fucking tricky things and if this Cheryl-thing turned out to be a demon he would fight her off with his bare hands._

 _“You’re such a wiener,” she declared. “You know it’s your fault that I’m here, don’t you? That incantation sent them back where they belonged, and sent the rest of us where WE belonged.” With something akin to joviality, she added in a gossipy tone, “God was so pissed off. He and Satan have some kind of bargain going centuries back about souls and damnation and due process.” She flopped down on the bed. “Satan tried to pull something about jurisdiction but God wouldn’t have it.” Her nose wrinkled. “Heaven’s so POLITICAL, Ash.”_

 _He could only seem to manage stillness, his gaze even and unblinking._

 _“Since my last lifetime was so short, they asked me if I wanted to go back in right away, and I said yes.” She squirmed, uncomfortable with the silence. “Gonna be someone else in a couple of weeks.” Complete silence followed. “Will you please SAY something?”_

 _He turned away from her, completely silent._

 _A long, deep sigh came from Cheryl. “It’s not your fault.”_

 _“Like hell it’s not,” he said to his hands._

 _“Okay, so it’s your fault. But you tried to fix it, and that counts for something.”_

 _He met her eyes. “I just wanted it to end. I wanted to crawl away and hide…”_

 _Her tone contained sympathy. “I know. But you stayed.”_

 _“If they hadn’t taken Sheila…”_

 _“You care a lot about her.” His gaze suddenly lowered itself back to his hands. “You let love guide you. That’s not all bad – and neither are you.”_

 _“It was just me being selfish again. I couldn’t deal with the idea of her getting hurt ‘cause of something I did.”_

 _“So maybe you were a little selfish…” His expression was world-weary. “Maybe you were enormously selfish. Maybe you still are. But you’re a human being.”_

 _“I could’ve been a better one,” he said, stony-voiced._

 _She sighed, and glanced at her now-dinging watch. “I’ve gotta get back. I don’t know what’ll happen if my guide misses me.”_

 _He looked up. “Hey…am I ever gonna see you again?”_

 _She smiled, that irritating, mysterious smile that he loathed. “Sooner than you think.”_

 _He glowered. “Be a pal and give me some kind of warning next time.”_

 _“But, Assley, what kind of fun would that be?” She moved out of his grip and got off of the bed, walking away. “Be a good boy,” she tossed over her shoulder as she opened the door._

 _“Wait…” she turned around and waited, expectant, but he couldn’t form the words while his own brown eyes looked back at him._

 _“You don’t need to say it, macho man,” she smiled. “I love you, too.”_

He woke up smiling as the door opened.

“M’lord?”

Ash blinked up at Sheila, disappointment souring his happiness. _Just another damn dream._ He rubbed a weary hand over his face and felt his head throb. _Fuckin’ whisky._ “I’m fine.”

“Ye’re sleeping fitful again,” she scolded, entering the room and sitting carefully beside him. “What be this?”

He looked down at the sketchbook. “My sister’s,” he explained, flipping it open. Sheila smiled approvingly at the pictures he showed her - watercolor still-life, sketches of her friends, a portrait of Gordon lounging nude upon her bedspread, a rose clutched between his teeth. “Ew…”

Artistic nudity did little to phase the mother of his child. “She bore a talent,” Sheila remarked, her head resting comfortably against his shoulder.

“Told you,” Ash said fondly. He flipped the page and saw himself again, staring at that damn apple.

“Tis a right likeness,” Sheila proclaimed. Suddenly, the sketchpad had lost its appeal – she ran her fingers across the sharp angles of his face. “I wish I could take the pain of the day from thee, m’lord.”

He tried to shake off her touch. “It wasn’t the worst I’ve been through. Just typical when it comes to Bob.”

“Why do ye fight with him so oft, m’lord?”

“He thinks of me as a taller version of himself?” he teased, the truth jagged beneath his joke.

“But thy talent improves upon his. Art an alchemist,” she said proudly. He couldn’t resist laughing at her, then, which earned him a pout.

Smoothing the worry lines from her face with his fingertips, he said, “Baby, I could cure cancer and Bob wouldn’t give a shit. It doesn’t count unless it’s done his way. ”

“Thy father is a fool,” she declared. “Ye’re fine as ye are, m’lord.” He opened his mouth to praise her and out came a yawn. “Tis past pence – time for bed,” she stood up and, in a motherly way, urged him to stand and walk.

He hated being babied by her but utterly adored her touch. “Kay. If you’ll come with me,” he leered.

“Aye,” she replied, her tone still quite innocent. She didn’t expect him to grab her, pick her up and heave her over his shoulder, but that was exactly what happened. The force of his movement nearly sentthem both tumbling to the floor – he kept his standing, barely. “ASH,” she barked, kicking ineffectually but laughed as he carried her into the guestroom and shut the door tight behind them.

***

“Recite to me, m’lord.”

Ash squinted down at her in the pale moonlight streaming through the window. They had been lying together quietly in the cool Laura-Ashley-nightmare sheets, lost in the afterglow. “I’m too tired to do anything, baby.”

She twined her fingers through his dark hair. “Ye’ve no more dulcet words from the poet Sprung-sten?”

Ash bit desperately down on his lower lip – she’d kill him if he started laughing now. “Well…” he bent close to her, and whispered in her ear, “Hey little girl is your daddy home? Did he go away and leave you all alone? I got a bad desire…I'm on fire.” He put a stagey sort of dramatic tone to the words, trying to make her laugh.

But to Sheila, these were the sweetest words from the most eloquent poet. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “More,” she requested.

His memory was, typically, flat lining. He blurted out the first ones he could remember. “Well listen up stud, your life's been wasted til you've got down on your knees and tasted a red headed woman.”

Sheila seemed greatly amused. “Sprung-sten is a lusty wretch,” she remarked. “I see why ye admire him so.”

Ash just groaned and levered himself away from her, collapsing on the mattress and leaving an arm draped across her breasts.

They lay quietly for a moment more. Then she said, “you sprung from hard soil, m’lord.”

“Other people’ve had it worse.”

“La. The land is comely land,” she added.

He turned his head to better see her face. “It’s just another small town where nothing happens.”

“Its silence brings beauty,” she informed him.

“No, it’s just mostly boring,” he reached down for the rose-and-peony-spattered sheets and pulled them up to his chin – she kicked, pushing herself up the bed until they were eye to eye. “We have a bluegrass festival. That’s not too bad. And the Apple Festival Parade….” Her expression told him he’d stretched her credulity to the maximum. “Go to sleep, baby.”

“Very well, m’lord. Good eve.”

He fell asleep before she could finish her sentence.

***

Sheila awoke in the middle of the night to an empty bed and a churning stomach. She quickly slipped into a nightdress and an old robe of Ash’s and staggered down to the kitchen. Her belly was settled with a handful of soda crackers and a glass of flattened ginger ale.

She found her love somewhere else – in the backyard pool, swimming.

He cut through the water like an arrow, moving smoothly and without very much effort, his form bewitching her with its masculine beauty. _Beautiful._ She wished to tell him that this happened to be exactly what he was. Ah, she had an excuse to do so - he’d forgotten his towel.

Armed with an old beach towel, Sheila crept closer and closer, out the back door, across the lawn, up the deck. She settled at the rim of the pool and marveled at his stamina, not even making notice of his missing hand until her own sprawled fingers made accidental contact with the metal prosthesis. Odd to touch its disembodied sheen; she’d come to think of it as just another part of his form. The oddest, most morbid thought crossed her mind as she stroked the palm of it contemplatively.

Properly distracted, when Ash lunged out of the water right in front of her she nearly tumbled into the pool. For her fright, she received a peck on the lips that settled her quaking insides.

“Fifty million and forty-five. What’re you doing up, baby?”

“I cannot sleep.” His concern made her smile. He grunted and deliberately planted his wet head upon her lap. Sheila didn’t mind – it gave her the opportunity to play with his hair. “Mayhaps I dislike waking alone,” she admitted, her hands tracing down his neck and shoulder to his right arm. Sheila stopped inches above his stump, but her eye was on the sky.

He looked up at her, studying her expression. “What’s eating you?”

“Hath not seen so many stars before,” she said. “We ever had torches burning bright to blot out the sky and keep the demons at bay.”

“Yeah, it’s a nice night,” he agreed.

“Our times have been most serious of late, m’lord. They have put me in mind of chance…” her fingers rested loosely against his arm. “Ye could have bled to death before we met.”

Surprise danced across his face. “But I didn’t.”

“I could have killed thee before I truly knew ye,” she added. He smirked at the very idea of her killing him. “Do not make sport of me. Had ye murdered Lucian, I WOULD have slain thee with my bare hands.” She knew, from the change in his countence, that he was well aware that she would have found a way.

“Remind me not to piss you off again,” he requested.

“La. Ye’ve give me little reason to be mad as of late.” she replied. She ran her fingers back up his arm, shoulder, neck, up his chin and to his lips. She stroked the scar there. “We have the strangest luck, m’lord.”

A sarcastic laugh. “We don’t have any luck at all.”

“My sweet,” she kept stroking his skin, “we have our health and our friends and our jobs and our son. Art the luckiest two I know.”

“D’you always have to look on the bright side of things?” he complained with a little smile.

“Aye,” she said quite gravely.

“Hope junior takes after me, then. I don’t think I can take living with another Pollyanna.”

She looked at him in mild astonishment. It was the first time he’d ever suggested that she might stay with him beyond the months of her confinement. “Ye’ve spared a thought for fate as well, I see.”

In a low voice, he confessed. “I had a dream about my sister.” Sheila remained silent, letting him continue. “The day she sketched me with the apple. I thought I was just remembering it but the whole day changed in the middle – she told me goodbye.”

“Did it lighten thy heart?”

His expression darkened. “Til I realized it was just a dream…”

Intensely, Sheila corrected him. “Tis more than that. She came to thee...”

“It wasn’t really Cheryl. Just my fucked-up head playing tricks on me.”

She stroked the bridge of his nose. “What harm would it do to think her real?”

Ash wearily groaned. “Nevermind. Let’s get on dry ground and head back to bed, princess.” He pushed away from her body and swam to the steps.

She frowned. “Princess? Am I not a queen?”

He chuckled as he climbed up the pool stairs. “Not yet.”

Hope sizzled through her nerves. Carefully, she climbed to her feet. “M’lord?”

Ash was busy rubbing himself dry with the towel. Noticing what a completely ineffectual job he was doing, she automatically took it from him and began to pat his back dry. He relaxed into her touch, just briefly. “Uh huh?”

She finished and began to neatly fold the towel. “I would go home today.”

Ash sighed, bent down and retrieved his hand, then wrapped his arm around Sheila and led her down the patio steps. “Good, ‘cause that’s where we’re going. Back to Dearborn.”

Sheila relaxed in his grip, her head resting against his side. How wonderful it would be to return to her work and to talk with her friends and see the lively streets of her husband’s kingdom, to see Mandy again and learn more of the language of the land. Indeed, Dearborn was her home now, she realized - more importantly, the first time that Ash had called it her home. There she belonged, and there she would stay.

She dared the fates to tell her otherwise.


	7. Joking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ash makes a decision about his relationship.

“You said ‘good friends are hard to come by.’ I laughed and bought you a beer – it’s too corny to cry.” –Amy Ray, _Joking_

***

“Aisle twelve, next to the bleach and under the fabric softener...”

Louie’s head peeped around the shelving unit. “…Shop smart! Shop S-Mart!”

The elderly customer blinked at Louie as he rounded the corner, shuffling out of the way as he bore down on Ash like a tornado. “DUDE!” he cried out. “Ninja. Motorcycle. NINJA MOTORCYCLE! DUDE!” In his excitement, he grabbed Ash by the shoulders and shook him.

It took Ash a moment to translate that out of Louie-eese. “Buying one or fixing one?” He waited for an answer and pried Louie’s clutching fingers off of his shoulder.

Louie’s blue eyes danced around in his head like errant marbles. “Fixing it, but Murph says once it’s off the rack I can give it a test run.”

“Groovy.” Ash frowned as Louie burst into laughter.

“Sorry, man,” he said sheepishly. “It’s so WEIRD when you say that in real life…”

Ash snorted. _Freak._ “Why? Everything I did in the story really happened.” He pulled out a red, white and blue raffia out of the packing crate he’d been toting with him and started scotch taping it across the top of the shelf.

“I know, dude,” Louie turned to leave and Ash breathed a sigh of relief, but then he turned around with a bright expression. “It’s Friday!”

“So?”

“Soooo, how’d you feel about me callin’ in that free beer tonight?”

“Sorry. Got plans.” He moved down the aisle, taping the raffia down in random spots.

Louie’s nose wrinkled. “Taking the Lady Ash out on the town?”

“Thinkin’ bout it,” he admitted. “She’s been working pretty hard. And she’s stressed about her first doctor’s appointment.”

“Oooh – if the Lady Ash’s with you, that means Joy’s not busy! SCORE!” He actually pumped his fist with that declaration.

“She hasn’t hit you with a restraining order yet?” Ash planned on pleading insanity if someone tried to force him to testify in that little eventuality.

“Nah – I haven’t been able to get her on the phone. I try every day, tho!” Louie sighed. “She’s got the prettiest answering machine message…’Hi, I can’t come to the phone right now. Please leave a message after the beep…”

Ash just shook his head. “Uh, good luck on that one.”

“She’ll totes be seein’ my ‘O’ face soon, King,” Louie said, breezily confident, giving Ash a parting slap on the shoulder. “No girl in Dearborn can resist the chicken coup.”

**

When Ash arrived home after his shift, the apartment was empty. Every nerve in his body sprung to life as he crept into the bedroom, checked the bathroom – no Sheila. Checked the clock – six, and she got off at five…

The kitchen held his answer – a note scrawled elegantly in Modern English: _To My Lord Ashley, Am to dinner and moovie with Carmen and Gerry. We took the car. Shall return past ten. Fondly, I am Sh;P._

Ash grunted as he balled up the note. He vaguely knew who Carmen and Gerry were, at least, and knew they should be safe – unless one of them assumed Sheila could drive…

Damn. Now what the hell was he going to do?

The TV, his first line of refuge, offered nothing but snow, Entertainment Tonight and the Tigers getting their asses kicked again. He flicked it off and considered his options. He could do something constructive - go grocery shopping? Vacuum? The gym?

His eyes scrambled across the book lying face-down upon the coffee table.

 _No. I’m NOT gonna waste time going all the way across town to give that to Joy._

He flicked the TV back on.

“…And it’s another loss for the Tigers as they’re routed by the Red Sox six to one…”

Ash was out the door in a minute flat.

***

With the help of Sheila’s precisely-written address book notation, Ash managed to get to Joy’s place with relative ease, rubbed his fingers across the comforting grooves worked into the book’s surface the entire way there.

Ten minutes later, he stood in a vestibule that smelled of rotted wood and cat urine, that was painted an ugly shade of rose that dribbled down onto the trim. A raggedly dressed older woman sat in the doorway of her first floor apartment, eyeing him suspiciously as he climbed the old wooden stairway; he avoiding the confrontation with each new step. A skinny bottle blonde inhabited the landing – no, for once, he wasn’t interested in a good time – and unimpeded he kept climbing, up to the seventh floor and apartment 565.

Music pulsed through the air as he knocked on the door – heavy bass paired with the rattlecrash of a cymbal. He knocked harder, enjoying in a primitive slam of his right fist into the wood.

The lock jingled for a moment before the door opened – a teeshirt and overall-sporting Joy met him with a glance of mild surprise, then quickly reverted to her normal attitude. “You’re the ugliest Avon lady I’ve ever seen.”

“Ha. Lemme in before one of your neighbors tries to mug me.”

She smirked down at him. “Sure. Can you put me down for a box of Do-Si-Dos first?”

One steely unbroken look was enough to make her move out of the way. Ducking quickly inside, Ash heard the door slam, locks jingling shut and clicking into place.

“Okay, seriously,” Joy asked, “whatt’re you doing here? Is something wrong with Sheila?”

Ash didn’t even hear her question – he was too busy staring at the hippie gift shop decor of Joy’s apartment. Janis Joplin glared at him from across the room, topless on a black velvet painting, the words “get it while you can” scribbled by her curved spine. Joy watched him quizzically and Ash bit back a laugh and held out the book in his left hand. “Thought you might want this back.”

She stared at the volume, once again silenced by mild surprise. “I told you to keep it.”

Ash shrugged and jabbed it in her direction. “But I don’t need it.”

Joy took hold of the thing very carefully – as if it were a bomb or a newborn baby. “I don’t know what I’ll do with it. You figured out how to make it work…how did you cast that spell, anyway?”

He shrugged. “Toldya, I just got lucky. It’s a chick book, and it belongs with a chick.”

Joy turned it over between her palms. “All right,” she carried the tome to her shelves, where it was hidden between “Stevie Nicks: Gypsy Woman” and “Tori Amos: Words and Pictures.” “I HAVE been meaning to start again. Maybe I’ll find a new coven for Litha…” She patted the book affectionately, then frowned and looked down at Ash. “Something else is SO going on.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Did Sheila kick you out?”

“No…” She just kept staring at him, the juxtaposition of her faded New Kids on the Block tee-shirt and completely serious expression causing him to bite back a laugh. “Why do you care?”

“I told you before that I care about Sheila,” Joy explained. “And unfortunately, you’re the guy she’s in love with. So if you’ve done something shitty to her, it’s my business. Got it?”

Ash winced at that revelation. “She’s in love with me?” Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d known that for a long time, but the fact that someone else had noticed left him vaguely surprised.

Joy snickered. “She followed you six hundred years into the future and gave up everything she had in the process. Oh, and she’s having your kid. She probably hates you.”

“But she didn’t choose any of that,” Ash pointed out.

Joy gave him a direct look. “ANY of it?”

That earned her a Direct Look of her own. “She chose me,” he corrected roughly.

“After you pushed yourself on her.” Joy lowered her voice, trying to approximate Ash’s, and grabbed a hand-stitched sofa pillow. “Oooh, gimmie some sugar baby, num num num…” she pasted her face against the front of it, leaving a red lipgloss smudge in her wake.

He tensed. “It wasn’t pushing. If she’d said no...” He probably would have exploded in frustration, Ash realized, because he’d wanted her pretty badly and so suddenly that he hadn’t even bothered with coherency. Joy held his gaze with a stare of disbelief, and he didn’t understand why he felt the need to defend himself to her, but he did so passionately. “I’m not gonna hurt her again.”

Joy tossed the pillow at him. “You already have. And by the way, you’re lucky that she doesn’t remember that whole you-threw-her-off-a-battlement thing...”

Ash dodged the frippery and glared at her. “You’re forgetting the whole my-evil-twin-turned-her-bad-and-probably-possessed-her part of the story.”

Joy grumbled, keeping her distance and sinking down in a battered armchair in the corner of the room. They watched each other mistrustfully, until she finally admitted, “we’re forgetting the promise we made to Sheila.”

“I know.”

“You COULD be an easier person to get along with…”

He glowered at her. “You COULD be less of a…” Ash cut himself off and wearily he offered up the only peace offering he could think up quickly. “Let’s make a deal. If I ever hurt Sheila again – in any way – I’ll let you sock me.”

Joy weighed the option quietly. “Below the waist?”

Her lack of trust in him was appalling – didn’t she remember he was THE king? He glanced down at her hands and summarily doubted she could cause him much pain. “Whatever.”

Joy nodded sharply. “Deal.” She stretched and stood up. “Well, I could say it’s been pleasant, Ash, but then I’d be lying…”

He snorted, taking the hint and standing. “I had fun. You didn’t mace me this time.”

She shook her head, chuckled. “I’m saving all my mace for Louie now.”

Ash’s cowboy instinct kicked in. “You want me to get him to back off?”

Joy shrugged. “He’s easy enough to handle in person. All you have to say is ‘Louie, no.’” Her phone began to burr, and she rolled her eyes. “I’ll let the machine get it…”

The machine picked up on the third ring. “Hi, this is Joy. I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Have a peaceful Litha!”

*BEEP*

“Uh…uh…” Louie sputtered.

Before Joy could make a move, Ash had reached her table and picked up the phone. “Louie?”

“King?” he squeaked. Then more assertively, “whatt’re you doing with Joy?”

“Trying not to get shot,” he snapped. “Where the hell are you?”

“Pay phone outside the Red Fan. Ma Bell cut me off last week, man, I don’t have the bread to…”

Ash grumbled and rubbed at his aching forehead. “Give me two minutes to get there. I think I’m gonna buy you that beer…”

“Dude!”

“DON’T MOVE.” He imagined Louie bopping happily off into the night with the Chicken Coop, leaving Ash to deal with Wen Li and his bloated tab.

“Got nowhere else to go, man. I just asked for a number six…would you like me to order you something? ”

“Yeah. Anything with meat.”

He heard Louie yell, “one twelve with extra pork, Wen Lei!” before hanging up the phone.

As Ash replaced the receiver, Joy thrust forward a small brown leather-covered book with gold lettering. “Here.”

He looked at the title: _Everyday life in Medieval England._ That earned her a frown.

“You do want to understand her a little better, don’t you?”

“I understand her just fine,” he pouted.

Joy opened the door and pushed him outside, with just a touch more fondness than she would have at the beginning of their meeting. “Sometime in the future, when you can’t fix things by sticking your tongue in her mouth, you’ll need it,” she told him, and politely closed the door in his face.

**

The Red Fan was a thorough and uncompromising dive. Its neon sign - promising cocktails! And karaoke! with the attendant exclamation points - had lost two letters in a hailstorm. Now it flashed The Rd Fa under an obnoxiously ugly rendition of a pagoda and a green character symbolizing “Double Happiness.”

The interior had been painted in gloomy, sickly shades of red and yellow, the brownish carpet leading from the front door covered with ground-in crud from a thousand motorcycle boots. The bar slash reservation area slash take-out and register pick up area abutted a huge wall-to-wall iron bar covered window which allowed in puffs of stifling air in the summer, a nasty draft in the winter. Between the dining area and the bar stood a jukebox and small dance floor, where weekly karaoke nights were held. Rows of booths stood in order behind it, walled off with bullet-and-sound-proof glass, partitioned with three waist-high wood paneled partitions rimmed by black iron crosshatching. The pool room was nearer the kitchen area and had a claw machine that, one long summer ago, had sucked dry Ash’s paychecks in his vain pursuit of a stuffed giraffe for Linda. It was to the left of the bathrooms, which, on a night of debauchery, stood so far away from the front of the building that it seemed to exist in a parallel dimension. The downtrodden customer base – comprised mostly of an incongruous contingent of families and Hell’s Angels - and the warehouse of a building screamed _I was someone once. A long time ago._

Ash didn’t mind dirt or the danger; after all, the food was great.

Someone called to him as he entered the restaurant. “Ash, you shouldn’t hang around here. My dad’s pissed at you.” It belonged to Jack Li, a chubby kid of eighteen with acne speckled across his cheeks, swathed in a fading “Hail to the King” teeshirt who tried desperately to look grown-up and brave from his position behind the register.

For once, Ash understood perfectly well why someone was pissed off with him. “I didn’t mean to stiff your delivery guys…” _I fell asleep_ felt like a sorry excuse. Ash reached for his wallet and pulled out an extremely precious twenty. He grimaced, realizing that he’d have to dip into his t-shirt savings soon. “This should cover last week. Here’s another ten – get me a Pabst and bring…” he noticed Louie sitting at the end of the bar, masticating a plate of chicken chop suey. “…That guy one, too.”

Jack blinked. “You’re buying beer for a dude?”

“He’s a friend,” Ash said quickly, and quite finally – secretly a little surprised that he’d just described Louie as such.

Jack just shrugged and returned to his duties, allowing Ash to slip over to Louie. He was so involved in his food that it took a heavy cough and a none-too-kind shove from Ash to get an acknowledgement. “Yo, King,” he smiled, bearded in chop suey sauce.

“You’re still alive,” Ash noted – Louie seemed to be completely oblivious to the presence of the three hairy and very tall bikers sitting at the end of the bar.

“Hangin’ in there, man.” He smiled when Jack arrived with the twin Pabsts and Ash’s number twelve. Ash made eye contact with the defacto leader. _Don’t make trouble,_ his body language said. The long haired, monstrously- shaped guy gave Ash a toothless grin and hoisted his beer. Satisfied that someone out there still remembered who he was, Ash turned back toward Louie. He mixed the rice into the chow mien and began to eat.

 _“S’not bad,” Louie eventually remarked, as he sipped his beer._

 _“Had better,” Ash said, perhaps a hair too loudly. “There’s a place in Niles…”_

 _Louie gaped. “You’ve been to Niles?”_

 _“My parents moved there when they retired…”_

 _Louie grabbed his forearms. “DUDE: YOU GREW UP WITH JASON NEWSTED!?”_

 _Ash blinked. “Jason who?”_

 _Louie’s voice took on a shade of agony. “Jason Newsted! Bassist for the greatest band in the universe!”_

 _“KISS?”_

 _Louie stood up, his tone taking on a tour guide’s importance. “The year was nineteen eighty one. A young Lars Ulrich placed an ad in LA’s “Recycler” reading ‘Drummer looking for other metal musicians to jam with Tygers of Pan Tang, Diamond Head and Iron Maiden’. A young man named James Hetfield was able and willing to answer the call…’”_

 _While Ash’s eyes glazed over, Louie went off on a tangent that could best be described as ass-numbingly long. It ended with the phrase “…Jethro Tull, dude! Jethro frickin’ Tull!” as Louie slammed his beer down on the bar. “And that’s the story of the greatest band in the land.” He took a sip from his Pabst._

 _Ash pretended to consider Louie’s passionate speech. “I like Bob Seger.”_

 _Louie whined and pouted. “Bob Seger’s for oldsters!”_

 _He narrowed his eyes. “You callin’ me old?”_

 _More frowning, now combined with bambi eyes. “Not you, King!”_

 _“Good,” he slammed down a little more beer, a tad amazed by the fact that Louie happened to be three years his junior.  
“I’m for totes still making you a mix tape, tho, m’bucko. The power of the ‘Talica shall not be de niiieedd…” The sudden change in pitch of Louie’s voice made Ash cringe. He followed his wide-eyed gaze to the doorway, through which Joy had just passed._

 _“…Number seven with wings, Miz Kwan,” Jack said, handing her a paper sack._

 _“Thanks!” She reached into her purse and, balancing it on a loftily held and folded knee, pulled out a twenty._

 _Louie made a sound that could only be classified as a whimper. That drew Joy’s attention. “Hello, fellas.” Ash managed a wave; Louie, his eyes wild and a smile frozen on his lips, looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Joy smirked and moved toward the exit. “Goodbye, fellas.”_

 _She’d been gone for a few minutes when Louie came back to life. “GOD. She’s so CHOICE. Yanno, CHOICE!” He made a series of gestures, trying to draw the curve and shape of Joy in thin air with his hands, adding pinching gestures that would be obscene, were he talking to anyone but Ash._

 _“Sit, tiger. There are plenty more fish in the sea,” Ash finished off his beer. “And they all have bigger tits.”_

 _Louie’s jaw dropped. “You...LOOKED?” he squeaked._

 _Ash frowned. “Yeah. And she’s JOY. I’m not interested.”_

 _“BUT YOU LOOKED!” Louie cried, completely agonized. Ash gave him a mildly-confused stare, and Louie moaned. “You don’t understand, King. You can have any girl you want...”_

 _“Any girl?” Ash wiped the smirk off of his face at Louie’s pleading stare._

 _“...but the only wahinie I want is Joy.” Louie leaned against the bar, melancholic. He then shoved Ash lightly. “So back off!”_

 _Ash blinked at Louie’s aggression. “Joy hates me, man. Even if me and Sheila weren’t together, it’d never happen.”_

 _“I know – it’s cool,” Louie rubbed a hand through his shaggy hair. “ I’m a little crazy ‘bout her. You know what it feels like, don’t you? When your girl walks into the room and everything else goes kinda fuzzy and slow?” Louie grinned. “She’s the best trip EVER.”_

 _It hadn’t been like that for him with Sheila – or with any girl – but Ash nodded semi-politely. “You would know from good trips.”_

 _“Hell to the ya,” Louie smirked. “Speaking of trips, you and the Lady Ash gotta be coming to one of my gigs soon.”_

 _“It’s on the list.” Louie didn’t need to know that there, of course, wasn’t a list._

 _Louie nearly bounced in his seat. “You gots to be coming soon man. Splattergörr’s the only metal/ska/funk/polka/trance band with a tuba player in Michigan!”_

 _“Wow,” Ash remarked._

 _Louie grinned. “I got big plans, King. Watch out world: today, Dearborn, tomorrow Detroit...”_

 _“...Sunday Wilton?” Ash suggested, name dropping a random Detroit suburb._

 _Louie grinned and threw his arm around Ash’s neck. “Mindshare!” he burbled. “We’re gonna take the world and skin it alive, man!”_

 _Ash managed a snicker but quickly pushed him away – the bikers were watching them curiously again. Louie frowned, Ash tilted his head to draw Louie’s attention toward the bikers, and Louie immediately puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders. Then slapped Ash hard. Twice. On the back._

 _No jury in the universe would have convicted Ash for punching Louie in the jaw, which he was sorely tempted to try. Fortunately for Louie, The door’s flying open distracted them both, their heads swiveling in the direction of the now-open door._

 _Louie grinned and pushed Ash’s shoulder. “Your lady at nine o’clock.”_

 _“I see her, asshole,” Ash muttered, trying to maintain his tough outer appearance – but the sight of Sheila standing there waiting for him cased a big, stupid smile to spread itself across Ash’s face. When her dark eyes locked onto his he was flat-out grinning._

 _The world slowed down and got kinda fuzzy as she smiled back and took a step toward him; Ash peered quickly at his empty Pabst in confusion. Maybe the beer was bad…_

 _Louie nudged him one more time. “Go get her!” Louie hoisted his half-empty beer in Sheila’s direction, then turned to the bikers with a large grin. “WE’RE NOT GAY,” he shouted over the strains of Bachman Turner-Overdrive._

 _Ash groaned before getting up to cross the floor to her. The obvious confusion in her eyes threatened to lead to a question he absolutely didn’t want to answer. “Don’t ask.” He physically turned her around and walked her into the vestibule, his left hand taking its customary position on her lower back. Her flesh softened against his touch and caused his breath._

 _“What troubles thee? Ye did seem quite gay, m’lord…”_

 _His sharp, sudden peal of laughter resulted in a silent walk home._

 _***_

 _“Ye might have more faith in me, m’lord,” Sheila suggested, finally. She’d found a quicker route home for them, one he hadn’t known about, and they were within a block of the apartment within six minutes._

 _“Faith? Christ, you can hold a grudge...” She frowned at his blasphemy. “You’re really something,” Ash muttered, then rubbed her lower back, remembering the extra burden she carried and trying to mollify her. He kicked himself for questioning her about something so trivial._

 _Her features hardened, going proud and a tad remote. “I possess a refined sense of direction and a keen memory.” Her voice became more distant. “’Twas a learned attribute.” She glanced at him. “I bore thee.”_

 _“Go ahead.”_

 _Sheila continued, “I was my father’s assistant throughout my youth; ‘twas my duty to keep the household accounts in order, and to ride the border by his side. My five brothers were sickly youths, and my father lacked a steward of mettle; he turned to me in desperation. ‘Til he wed that woman, he seemed quite lonely and happy to have me about. He trained me to use a staff and a sword.” She smiled at the old, hidden memory. “Had my mother lived, I doubt she would have allowed me to run over the highlands in breeches with a dirk at my hip. Sweet Mary, ‘twas the scandal of Kander, and my young brothers were fiercely shamed by my unwomanly behavior when they grew old enough to understand what I did.”_

 _“You know how to use a knife?” The incredulity in his voice wounded her._

 _Her look was blunt. “Aye. I’d not taken my weapons to Arthur’s keep – ‘twould have made a horrid impression on the Scots.” A proud smile. “And a rock, in desperate times, wilt fell the tallest of men.” He laughed. “I put away my steel at one and three, when my stepmother demanded I learn the art of a lady of the manor afore my father found a suitable land baron to pledge his troth to me. A marriage had been arranged for me in my infancy, but my lordling husband died at four, when I was two; no match had been made for me after and at one and three I was ever the keep’s shame. By then my sickly brothers had grown to robust health; having had no need of a lady landlord, my father set me to rot in the tower and perfect the art of the brewed cask and the managed serf, awaiting my match and dispatchment.” She reached for his hand. “I worried for naught. Fate hath given me a man fine and strong.”_

 _Fate again! He gave up fighting her on that point, and armed himself with a joke about her rock throwing ability. But she had stilled in her tracks, looking down a blind alleyway._

 _Ash peered over her head – a group of homeless men had gathered there around a lit trashcan to warm themselves, the flames leaping out over the rusting metal rim, painting the old brick buildings deeper shades of orange and red. She shivered, and turned back toward the sidewalk, marching resolutely on. Ash wondered what the sight had evoked for her, knew it was something big but didn’t say anything – she’d confess when she wanted to._

 _Sheila didn’t seem to trust her voice until they were safely in his apartment. In the bedroom, from which the burning trashcan remained visible, she said, “’tis another May Day. In my youth, the slaves would have their festival night and burn bonfires in memory of my mother. I would watch them from my window and try desperately to recall her face, only to feel her fading from my sight year by year. At one and nine I had lost all but the shade of her hair – blood red – the scent of heather and highland rose on a linen handkerchief. And now...” She turned toward Ash. “...I cannot remember her face, Ashley. My brothers have been lost to the dustbin of time and I fear they too will leave my mind. And my poor father! I hath naught…” She gave a frown of deep concentration and stopped, gasping._

 _He crossed the floor. “Are you okay?”_

 _Sheila gasped again, and then laughed in a birdlike trill. She grabbed Ash’s left wrist and splayed his palm against the middle of her belly. “Our wee lordling dislikes my pitiful discourse.”_

 _Ash glowered. “What are you...”_

 _She shifted his hand down. “Hush.” Her eyes widened. “THERE.”_

 _And Ash felt it – a thumping under his fingers, fading sideways across her stomach as the child rolled into a more comfortable position. “Oh...” he murmured, in a guttural but very soft tone of voice._

 _Sheila had closed her eyes. “I misremembered my blessings,” she mumbled. To her stomach, she said, “I shall try to speak to thee more oft, little one...” She looked up into his light brown eyes and said very playfully, “my young Ashley.”_

 _Old Ashley glowered. “We’re not naming the kid after me.”_

 _“The son should be named for the father. Tis a Pendragon tradition!” she used an implacable tone that suggested Ash’s fight in this matter would be an arduous one._

 _Ash caressed her cheek with his right hand, and she leaned into the chilled metal. “You’re something else,” he repeated. God, was she ever. He couldn’t force himself to say anything more; the moment felt enormous. When he spoke again the moonlight had shifted in the windowpane, gilting her dark hair with threads of fire._

 _“Did I ever thank you?”_

 _She pouted thoughtfully. “For what?”_

 _Ash didn’t know. For being herself, perhaps, or for carrying his child, or for loving him or for enduring the insanity that was their lives. He said, “for putting up with my crazy family back in Niles.”_

 _She smiled. “Twas no great burden. Thy mother was kind…”_

 _“And I’m sorry she made you watch that damn movie a million times.” He winced. “She’s obsessed. S’ why I’m Ashley. And my sister was Cheryl Melanie.”_

 _Sheila unliberated his trapped left hand, her freed fingers weaving through his hair. “Ye forget that I dragged myself from the bowels of hell to be with thee. Thy parent’s abode was a near palace in comparison.”_

 _Ash he watched her face in the moon-and-firelight flooding through the window. It reminded him of their first night together so keenly that he wondered if any time had passed at all; if he would wake up to the sound of horses stamping in the courtyard and the feeling of her soft body wrapped around his under the furs._

 _The child would, however, not allow its father that illusion and kicked its mother hard enough to make her groan. Ash almost chuckled at her expression, but stopped himself. Just barely._

 _And he didn’t say anything for a long time, as they undressed and crawled into bed – flesh to flesh, while they still had the chance. When he did speak – when he was dozing on the soft cushion of her inner arm – the phrase didn’t include the words ‘gimmie’ or ‘sugar’. It nearly contained three more that he’d never spoken to a woman before._

 _Instead, half-muffled, an entirely different phrase came to being. “You have me.”_

 _He opened one eye and peeked at her._

 _Sheila was asleep._

 _***_

 _Deep into the night, after a crazy quilt of nightmares woke him, Ash stared at Sheila and thought of the miniature person lying under his hand. He knew they both deserved better than a two and a half room apartment and his hard-hearted wage-slaving self; he knew they would never find a more loyal protector than himself. The contradictory thoughts twisted through his brain and made for an interesting sort of torture._

 _Ash spent an hour trying to talk himself out of it. He was the worst possible candidate for this on the planet; what he knew about children and women he could fit in a Dixie cup. In the end, he would probably screw it all up; lose the both of them somehow, end up alone again and howling to the empty skies._

 _But it was far too late for him to run away. She was alone and needed his shelter; he hadn’t realized how alone until this night. The only piece of mind he had left in the world lay within his embrace, when that hint of salvation far outweighed the paltry notion of love._

 _He apologized to Linda for re-opening that closed-off part of himself that he'd promised to her _forever_. Wondered if she could hear him – if she cared._

Because by the time the sun came up, Ash knew he was going to ask Sheila to marry him.


	8. Least Complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ash proposes - it doesn't go well.

“And I bought you that ring ‘cause I never was cool.” –Emily Saliers, _Least Complicated_

***

Ash knew he was the last person Walker wanted to see at six in the morning; maybe that was why he took pleasure in pressing his forehead to the jewelry case and squinting at the glittering trinkets inside.

Walker mustered a grunt of recognition as he dropped his Bess Eaton coffee cup next to the register. “Always thought you were scared of shiny things.” he flexed his fingers and said mockingly. “Fire hot, Ash! Gold cold!” When he didn’t receive a reaction, he added, “I don’t think you can afford any of this crap. And, confidentially, it’s all fifty per cent lead.”

Ash tilted his head up, smirking. “Don’t be a fuckhead. I’m just….” What was it called? “Comparison shopping.”

Walker rolled his eyes. “You’re not a customer, I don’t get paid on commission, and it’s too early in the morning to deal with your shit. Now, to quote you – blow.”

Ash smirked. “Always knew you were paying attention to those stories…”

Walker just snorted, returning his attention to the register. As Ash turned and headed back to housewares, he tried to weigh the pros and cons of buying Sheila’s engagement ring at work. Pro: ten percent employee discount. Con: everyone would know his business. Pro: They would know his business anyway, because he wouldn’t be able to keep it all a secret. Pro: He had money to burn – the entirety of the proceeds he’d pocketed in shirt sales. Con: He knew Walker was right – even the expensive under-the-glass stuff was fifty percent lead. And Sheila probably knew what real gold looked like from a mile away. Ash felt a rising sense of doom as he realized he’d be spending his lunch hour at the only other place in Dearborn that traded gold and diamonds at a price he could afford - a pawn shop.

“KING!”

To Ash’s great humiliation, he actually jumped at Louie’s shout. “What the hell do you want?”

Louie wore a huge grin as he suddenly grabbed Ash in a bear hug, smearing his work uniform with his grease-marred coveralls. Frantically squirming in his grip, Ash finally managed to break free and deliver a hell of a death glare to Louie. His almost-but-not-quite friend remained oblivious. “Congrats, man! I’m totes gonna be best man, right?”

“What?” Ash glowered. “Who the hell told you I’m gonna propose to Sheila? _I_ didn’t tell anyone I’m gonna propose to Sheila!”

Louie took a deep breath. “Renee in home and garden said Fernanda in infant apparel heard from Jena in toys that Tara from pharmacy saw you in the breakroom looking up jewelry shops in the yellow pages when you got in today. We know you’re not a gold chain kinda dude, soooo….” Louie panted to regain his breath, then concluded, “…we all guessed you guys are gonna tie it up!”

Ash snarled. “Christ! Nothing’s sacred in this hellhole!”

Louie wrapped his arm around Ash’s neck. “I can totes get you a sweet deal at Cash and Carry, man. I know the guy who works the noon shift.”

Ash watched Louie cautiously. “You shitting me?”

“Nope!” Louie burbled. “It’s my cousin, and he SO owes me for getting him a girlfriend!” He grinned. “He’s banging my accordionist!”

“Keeping it in the family,” Ash snarked. “Nice.”

“Hey, sometimes you gots to grease the wheel to get the squeak out, man!” Louie backed off and moved toward automotives. “I’ll see you at lunch - we’ll take the chicken coop!”

“No—uh, I mean, we’ll take my car. It…” _probably won’t end up killing us_ , “…I just filled up the tank this morning. Got more gas to waste.”

Louie grinned. “Cool beans, man. Catch you!”

“Drop you,” Ash muttered through his teeth, turning back to the mountain of tumblers waiting for stacking. Late spring, pre-Memorial Day stock-up sales made him think of the hell that was the Fourth of July in housewares and he shuddered.

***

The alarmingly-dressed man standing behind the counter at the Cash and Carry Pawn Shop blended very neatly into the black walls. He critically watched Ash’s companion as both men stared at the goods. “You’re getting married, Lou?”

Louie’s head rolled, shaking in the negative. “Nah, not me man – but I gots my eye on this STACKED dish…”

Ash wasn’t in the mood to hear more about Joy. “She’s a carpenter’s wet dream and I’m the one getting married.”

The clerk led them to a glass case at the back of the room. “We’ve got a couple of nice settings here. They’re kinda small. Wouldn’t wanna wear a huge stone in a neighborhood like this, anyway…” as he unlocked the case, he cast a quick look in Ash’s direction. “Hey, aren’t you that guy?”

Ash smiled. “Maybe…” He tried to remember if he had a Sharpie in his back pocket.

“Oh yeah, you’re the I-saved-the-world guy,” The clerk noted, then told Louie, “I owe you a Coke, man.”

“DUDE! I told you I totally know him!” Louie leaned into Ash. “We’re homies for life!”

Ash growled. “I’m NOT your…homie?!”

The clerk hefted a velvet display shelf onto the countertop, bumping his violet mohawk against the rim of the case and causing his wares to rattle when they hit the hard surface. “These are all around twenty-five thou each. It’s not a bad bargain - they all come as is – if you need it in a different size, you’ll have to go to an actual jewelry shop to get the setting changed. Now this little beauty…” he held up a medium-sized diamond, which sparkled a champagne color in the light, “will run you around six hundred fifty.”

“I’ll take it,” Ash said.

Louie halted him. “WOAH! Dude! Slow down – we haven’t even looked at the ones in the other case yet.”

Ash fidgeted. “Why do we need to?”

“Dude, it’s, like way too big for her hand…” Louie bent over the case, plucking out a ring with a medium stone in a filigreed band. “This is more Sheila-ish– totes pretty, nicen’ small, not flashy enough to get her mugged walking around downtown Dearborn…” Ash glanced at it, thought it looked fine – what the hell did he know about jewelry? It was sparkly and looked expensive enough, so it was all right with him. “Good?” Louie asked. Ash just shrugged – it would be fine, if he could afford it.

“…It can be yours for only a hundred thousand dollars!” cut in the clerk,

“We’ll take it off your hands for half that!” Louie responded.

“You’re breakin’ my balls here, Lou.”

“It’s a little better than havin’ blue ones, Tuggo!”

“TUGGO?” Ash cut in.

“It’s a family nickname,” ‘Tuggo’ responded shortly. “And…well…I guess he DID save the world…and Barbra’s a TOTALLY sweet piece…”

“I should know,” Louie whispered to Ash.

“Huh?” ‘Tuggo’ was busy measuring the setting. “This is a five…Will it fit?”

“It looks fine – jam it in a box…” Ash slapped his money down on the counter, yearning for the ordeal to be over with.

After ‘Tuggo’ tested the cash for authenticity, he boxed the ring and handed it to Ash with a sales slip in a little yellow plastic bag. “In case she says no.”

“You’re a ray of sunshine, ‘Tuggo’,” Ash responded. He waited in the doorway, watching Louie wrap up pleasantries with his cousin before they walked to the car. Halfway back to the S-Mart, Ash finally spoke. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, man,” Louie smiled.

He knew he’d regret asking the question, but Ash finally said, “how’d you know what Sheila’s hands look like?”

“Dude, how can you NOT notice? They’re all pretty and eeny teeny. If you bought that first ring it woulda slid right off!”

“You looked at my girl’s hands.” Ash’s voice held an unvarnished threat.

“Yup!” Louie grinned. “We are SO even…”

Ash had, by now, become an expert in tuning Louie out, and that was exactly what he did as he plucked the ring out of the bag, opened the blue velvet box and stared at it in the sunlight. Looked nice, he supposed.

To Ash, it was just a ring until it was on her finger.

****

Joy glared at Ash as he barreled through the waiting room door. “You’re late,” she pointed out unhelpfully.

Too rushed to even attempt a full sentence, Ash said, “Sorry, traffic jam. Where…”

“Already in the exam room. Hey, since you’re here, I’m gone…”

Joy might have saved her breath – silence would have had as much of an impact on Ash. He had charged right into a hallway, searching out the proper exam room and rushing inside, brushing away a concerned nurse who had tailed him the entire way shouting for him to stop.

Inside the darkened exam room, Sheila lay on an uncomfortable-looking bed, a hospital gown hiked up just above her belly, her dark eyes wide in the dim light. Her doctor sat beside her, rubbing a transducer over Sheila’s stomach, her expression far more thoughtful in nature. They had been staring at a tiny monitor atop the rapturously until he’d pushed the door open.

The only sound in the room – in the world – was the ‘ka thoosh, ka thoosh’ of an infant heartbeat.

Otherwise, it was silent, and he had not the power. The obstetrician - Doctor Victoria Denhoff - suddenly spoke. “Chloe, this is Mister Williams. He’s the father.”

The harried-seeming blonde glared at Ash, turned, and headed back up the hallway. Happy not to be bum-rushed out of the building, he crowded into the doorway, still convinced that he’d interrupted something no man should witness.

“You can come in,” she noted dryly. But, in spite of Doctor Denhoff’s encouragement, it was Sheila –reaching out for him from her prone position – that galvanized him to movement.

“Tis a wondrous thing,” she whispered when he bent to kiss her after crossing the room and slipping his left hand into both of hers. “A miracle…”

Doctor Denhoff pointed at the monitor with her free hand. “The baby’s just fine, as you can tell.” Ash stared at the vaguely skeletal figure as it rolled toward him, seeming to bounce – arms waved, a thumb lifting to the mouth. He felt stupid; he felt grateful. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Continued Doctor Denhoff, “growing fast. Weight’s about average, development’s about right for four months…” she rolled the transducer a little lower on Sheila’s stomach. “Would you like to know the sex?”

“It’s a boy,” Ash said firmly, with a certainty that earned him an arch look from Doctor Denhoff.

“We believe it to be a son,” Sheila explained.

Doctor Denhoff didn’t remark upon this quirk of theirs. “Would you like to know the sex for certain?”

Ash glanced at Sheila, who shook her head. He muttered, “guess we’ll be surprised,” still completely certain it was a boy.

“All right.” Doctor Denhoff clicked off the machine. “We’ll just print one of these out for you to take home…Get the lights, Mister Williams?” Ash had to let go of Sheila’s hand to stumble back over to the wall and flick them on. The EKG buzzed away. “How do you feel, Sheila? You told me you’d been vomiting at our first interview.”

“Aye,” Sheila modestly brushed the gown back down over her stomach – it stuck to the gel the doctor had spread upon her flesh. “Less so with time – and I’ve been overtired, recently. Now my back aches often.”

“But the vomiting’s decreased?”

“Aye.”

“Excellent – I’ll prescribe you a daily dose of vitamin E to go along with the prenatal vitamins you’ll be taking. You are a tad underweight – since you say it’s gotten better I doubt it’s hyperemission, but if you feel especially dizzy or weak, call me…” Doctor Denhoff smiled as she ripped a note from her prescription pad and handed them to Sheila. “Otherwise, things seem to be on-course for a healthy delivery. I do want you to take care of yourself – sleep well and eat well. Moderate exercise is good for you. And your job,” she pointed at Ash, “is to support her emotionally and see to it that she gets the rest she needs.”

“Already on it, doc.”

“Your next appointment is at the end of the month,” she instructed Sheila. “By July you’ll be coming in every two weeks. Pregnancy is not a matter to be taken lightly,” she instructed them both gravely. “Do NOT skip your appointments. And if something feels wrong, follow your gut instinct. It’s usually the right one.”

“Thank ye, Doctor.” Sheila’s gratitude was quite obvious, and rather cloying.

“See you, Doc.” He’d turned politely around to allow Sheila privacy with which to dress.

Doctor Denhoff took her leave, but not before eyeing Ash. “Must have been quite an accident,” she remarked, humor in her tone.

Ash glanced down at himself and groaned. His good work shirt was still covered in axel grease from Louie’s hug.

***

“Do you like her, m’lord?” Sheila asked.

He had been busy staring at the printed out sonogram, counting fingers and toes, as they sat on a red-cushioned bench outside of the S-Mart’s pharmacy. “She’s fine for a chick,” Ash remarked lightly.

“Aye – art a fine doc-tor.” Sheila patted his hand. “I would not trust our babe to male midwifery. They were aught quick to bleed me out my foot or press hot stones to my back when I was ill at…” she hesitated. He knew she had nearly said, ‘at home’.

“Doctors don’t do that anymore,” Ash pointed out. “Now they mostly charge way too much to pull splinters out of your fingers.”

“Oh,” Sheila remarked.

The silence was shattered by a booming voice. “WILLIAMS. Hello!”

Ash nodded to acknowledge Pearl, but Sheila watched the woman with curiosity. “I do not believe we’ve met.”

“Pearl,” she thrust out her hand. “I’m the one who got you that…license.”

Sheila grinned. “Oh, my benefactress! La, ‘tis pleasant to meet thy acquaintance.”

“How long of a wait do you have? I could take her picture now – get that passport done…”

Sheila looked to Ash for guidance, but he shrugged. She turned to Pearl and allowed herself to be hoisted to a standing position. “I’ve not had a portrait done in many a year.”

“Yes…why, I bet it’s been hundreds and hundreds of years…” Pearl’s sonorous voice seemed to echo in the store as she led Sheila away. Ash could only shake his head and sigh. His name was called, and waiting with the white and blue bags was the infamous Tara. She took his money.

“So, when are you proposing? I wanna be there when it happens.”

Tara didn’t even really KNOW him; to her he was THAT GUY. “What the hell for?”

“You’re kidding, right? You guys are the best circus in town!” she informed him.

Ash growled, grabbed the bags and left her with his change. Fuck Tara and everyone else who thought his life was public property - he’d propose in private, in quiet, where they wouldn’t be subject to the prying of others.

Sheila wasn’t at the Photomat. A moment of panic drifted away when he passed by health and beauty and saw her at the center of a gaggle of women who fussed over her. They chuckled and clacked their tongues, a hive of honeybees.

And when he saw her, something inside of himself shifted. Her warmth and beauty drew him closer. Soon he was in the midst of the feminine coterie, brusquely pushing his way over to her, shooing away the women. “I want to talk to her alone. Just gimmie a minute…” They scattered but hovered nearby, peering at the scene he and Sheila made. In a moment, under his stormcloud gaze, they were gone.

 

Then the words came, entirely against his conscious will. “Marry me,” he begged and ordered in the same breath.

Shock danced across her face, followed by delight…followed, rapidly, and finally by anger.

Her answer had all the blunt force of a mace cracking into his head. “No.”

He blinked. _No?!_ “Why not?”

Sheila’s chin firmed. “Ye’ve not paid me proper court,” she said, crossing a self-protecting arm over her chest.

His features twisted. “We’re living together, and we’re having a kid. Where I come from, that goes way beyond courting.”

Apparently very aware of the prying gazes around them, she leaned closer to him and hissed, “I am no frow, and ye’ve not shown an interest in marriage a’tall afore this day, if I discount thy ‘pillow talk’.” she stared him down, folding her hands in her lap. “I would be wooed, Ashley.”

He glanced quickly over his shoulder, making sure no one else was listening in. “You’re pushing it,” he snapped.

Her gaze turned icy. “What I seek is a reward past due,” Sheila said. “Art not the fool ye believe me to be.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid.” A half-truth – he’d thought of them all as stupid, until they’d shown him otherwise.

“Ye called me a ‘primate’ once.” Injury filled her voice and it wavered, and she broke their locked gazes. It changed again, hardening. “My ability to reason is above that of an ape, if yee’d not reckoned.”

Ash’s hard pose melted, and he reached out for her. “Sheila…” She slipped out of the chair, ducked under his arm and began to stride back to the Photomat. He marched after her, easily catching up and finally pulling her around to face him in front of a pyramid of canned corn. Staring down at her, his hands encircling her wrists, wanting to shake her and kiss her at the same time, Ash struggled for words. “I say a lot of shit without thinking about it first…”

A revolving blue light flashed over their heads, glowing off the unshed tears in her eyes. “Aye.”

“Back there I was too angry to do anything but…” He shrugged, went for honesty, “be a prick, basically.” He wouldn’t admit that he’d also been scared out of his mind at first. He let go of her wrists before they bruised, stroked the backs of her hands, gently. “You know what I had to do. Didn’t want anyone to get too close. But then you hit me…” And Ash had run out of words, because he’d wasted enough time pretending that what they’d shared didn’t mean anything to him. “It’s a hell of a way to start things off and a hell of a way to meet a lover.”

“Ah. And thereby hangs the tale.” Her arms stiffened at her side, fists bunched. “I know ye love me not, Ashley.”

He flinched, releasing her wrists. She’d always been able to see right through him. “I didn’t say I don’t…”

“Ye love Linda. I am but a weakness in thy flesh that warms the bed, thy offer a way of soothing the guilt of bedding me.” She pulled away from him, stepped into the brighter lights by the front of the store. “Art not the daughter of my father now, forced to marry for the peace of the land. My life is my own, and I shalt marry for love, or not at all.”

They locked eyes, mutually unbending, with the right words stuck to the tip of his tongue. Maybe she was right, and it was all about the chemistry between them – but he couldn’t kid himself, remembering the happiness she’d given him, the little cracks she’d made in his armor, the innocent delight in seeing their unborn child. He grabbed her upper arm. “Gimme me more time?”

To his astonishment, she pushed him away, simply turned away, marched past checkout, headed right outside, went to the payphone and used it.

He trailed behind, watched her sit upon a nearby gum-speckled wooden bench. “I shall be ‘bunking’ with Joy,” she announced.

He sat down beside her, tried to get a little closer, and tried to grab her hands – Sheila, elusive, quick, pulled away and eyed him warily from the edge of the bench. “Baby, don’t do this…” He wasn’t quite pleading with her – he was too furious for that, too confused.

“Tis indecent to remain with thee. ‘Twas indecent from the start, and I should not have allowed ye to bewitch me.” Her mask had slipped into place; this was the cold Sheila he’d met at the beginning of his journey.

His jaw tightened, grip firm upon the bench. He turned from her and watched headlights coast about the half-filled parking lot in the warm night, the ultrasound print-out a heavy crumpled thing in his back pocket.

Joy pulled up, and when she stopped her rusting junk of a red Mitsubishi at the curb she didn’t even spare Ash a look. Sheila stood and headed instantly to the car.

He stopped her with a hand pressed gently to the shoulder. “Here,” he handed her the paper bag of pills. She curtly nodded, taking the bag. His hand slipped up her shoulder, cupped her cheek, turning her head. “I’m not giving up.”

In the depth of her dark eyes, something flickered. Then she turned from him, entered the car and closed the door.

She was gone when Pearl appeared behind him. “What happened?”

“She had to go.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Pearl shuffled away, complaining about the wasted effort.

Ash was immune to her concerns as he watched Joy’s taillights trail across the lot, left behind and feeling the bitter loneliness of standing where Sheila had stood, hundreds of years and an ocean away.

***

The apartment was especially empty without her, but Ash was too busy plotting to notice. He formulated a straightforward one - she wanted wooing and he would give her wooing. Ash knew, after all, how to coax a girl with flowers and charm, and he knew how to grab a girl and seduce her with the force of his need. But Sheila was not the sort of girl who could be won through flattery, and he knew trying to kiss her to death would result in another bruised cheek. His easy plan dissolved so quickly that he barely had time to mourn its loss before starting a new one.

He would need creativity - his teeth sank into his lower lip at the thought. Somewhere, he knew Joy was laughing – here it was, a problem he couldn’t solve by shoving his tongue into Sheila’s mouth…

The little book stared up at Ash, right beside Sheila’s inherited copy of The Collected Emily Dickinson. He caressed it briefly.

The couch was still pretty lumpy, but he didn’t feel it under his body when he relaxed against it, flipping open the book at the index and searching out his desire.

 _Chapter Twelve: Rites of Courtship in the Medieval Era._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ash tries to do the 'proper' thing and court Sheila.

“You were so baroque. All of those words just to tell me no.” –Amy Ray, _Yield_

***

 _In the high medieval period, marriages between figures of nobility were often arranged. While these betrothals were often made in the hope of social advancement and the continuance of the family line, courtly love remained an idealized state of living even among this practical upper stratum._

 _A young woman of marriageable age expected her suitors to court her in style, first, of course, having obtained permission from her parents or parental guardians…_

Soft, feminine laughter came from the opposite side of the door. Ash paused outside, fist poised to knock. Wrong time, wrong day – story of his life, he decided as he stood there feeling like a massive tool, trying to decide if he really wanted to do this.

The choice was abruptly taken away from him when the door opened. Looking downward, he flinched as he saw Mandy Klein’s unwavering stare.

“Well,” she declared, one word standing in for a volumesworth as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“I should’ve called,” he remarked. “She’s here.”

“It’s Tuesday evening, of course she’s here,” Mandy replied, standing just a little taller. “Why haven’t you called her, Ash?”

“She told me not to. How the hell do you…”

“She tells me everything,” Mandy replied shortly. “What do you want, Ash?”

His left hand raked through his hair. Of course, Mandy wasn’t going to make this easy on him. “Uh…I…” the rest came out in a mutter. “I want to ask for your permission. I want to marry Sheila.”

Mandy blinked at that idea. Then, she smiled. “You’re serious.”

“Yeah,” he said.

A silence pregnant with meaning passed between them. “Will you treat her well?” Mandy asked.

Ash nodded. “I’ll take care of her,” he added.

“All right, then,” she agreed.

Her abrupt hug embarrassed him – being in Mandy’s presence was hard enough for him, her unconditional forgiveness leaving him speechless.

“Better go,” she told him. “We don’t want Sheila to see you.”

Ash guessed not. “Gotta leave anyway,” he confessed. “I’ve got work to do.”

***

 _The language of flowers emerged sometime in the late twelfth century. Lovers of the late Medieval period traded blossoms as symbols of their fidelity. Rosemary, for instance, symbolized remembrance…_

As Joy unlocked her door, something squashed under her foot.

Gingerly, she took a step forward. “Please tell me that wasn’t dog crap.”

Sheila grinned. “’Tis Rosemary.”

The strained incredulity on Joy’s face made Sheila smile. It was indeed a bundle of rosemary, fresh from the S-Mart’s produce section, still wet and wearing a twist –tie. “Who the hell would dump fresh herbs on someone’s doorstep?”

“’Tis milord,” Sheila fairly swooned. “He learns for me.”

“You’ve gotta raise your expectations higher, kid,” Joy muttered.

***

 _Loves of the high medieval age also exchanged other love tokens, such as poetry._

“What the hell are you writing, Ash?”

He didn’t look up, in spite of Walker’s prompting. “None of your damn business…” he hunched down, trying his best to look intimidating.

He squinted over Ash’s shoulder. “Is that POETRY?” Walker made a grab for the receipt tape Ash had been using as scratch paper.

“It’s not your business,” Ash replied.

“Is it for Sheila? What the hell are you gonna say to her?” he recited, in a dramatic voice, “’when I think of you, I think of clouds. You know, big clouds! And you and me, naked on a rock…”

“Flattered, but not interested, Walker,” Ash said.

“That wasn’t a…I didn’t mean…oh, fuck you, Williams!” Walker snapped, heading back to jewelry and leaving Ash alone to finish his composition.

***

 _…And song…_

“The morning Zoo?” Joy wondered, poking another safety pin through the hem of the prom dress they’d been working feverishly to hem all morning.

“Aye,” Sheila said. “D’ye not read the message he left with Carmen for me?”

“Yeah,” replied Joy. “’Sheila – turn on the radio at ten. Ash.’ He didn’t even bother to tell you which station he wants you to listen to.”

“KZAM - The 63.1. ‘Tis the only one he listens to,” Sheila responded, basting the lacy left into place.

Joy rolled her eyes. “He would.” She glared at the radio. “Marty and Stu’s Zam Zoo is the most misogynistic show on the air in this city. My women’s group protested against it last summer.”

“Tush – ‘tisn’t so terrible.” Sheila glanced over her shoulder at the radio as the program restarted.

“…And that was ‘Classy’ Freddie Blassie with the immortal ‘Pencil-Necked Geek’!”

“Another request filled! And if YOU have a song you wanna hear this morning, give us a call at 999-THE-KZAM. Just make sure it’s oldie but goodie.”

“Speaking of geeks, Marty, we have someone on the line claiming they’re Ash Williams…”

“THE Ash Williams, Stu?” A royal-sounding fanfare piped over the airwaves.

“The one and only…Are you still on the line, Ash?”

“…I can hear you morns talking about me…” the canned sound of a donkey braying covered up whatever Ash had tried to convey. “…DAMIT! JUST LET ME TELL YOU WHAT I WANT TO HEAR!”

“Long as you watch your mouth, ‘Ash,’” said Marty sardonically.

“Yeah, right – do you have ‘Stand By Me’?”

“Which version? The Platters? Ben E. King?” Stu asked.

“Uh…the one with the guy?” Ash suggested.

“Ben E King…excellent choice….” Stu muttered.

“While we have Ash on the line, is there anything Bobby the Wonder Pony wants to ask him?” The sound of a horse neighing popped up.

“Not the pony…” Ash growled.

A squeaky voice came over the airwaves. “What’s on sale in housewares this week, Ash?”

“Play. The. SONG.”

“Woah ho ho!” Marty bellowed, followed by the sound of a slide whistle being blown. “We have a live one, Stu!”

“I’m gonna kill you mother…”

“I’ll have you know unicorns are a protected species, buster!” piped ‘Bobby’.

The sound of a chainsaw revving sounded loud – close by? Sheila and Joy peered into the show room, but couldn’t see through the front window.

“Thanks for being such a good sport. You want to dedicate this to anyone, Ash? Ash?” Silence. The song he’d requested began to swell. “Next on the Zam, it’s Ben E King with ‘Stand By Me’…”

The song piped in, filling Sheila’s world.

 _When the night has come  
And the land is dark  
And the moon is the only light we’ll see  
No I won’t be afraid, I won’t be afraid  
Just as long as you stand, stand by me…_

 _“Sheila?” Miss Elaine called from the shop. “There’s a gentleman with a chainsaw here to see you.”_

 _“Incredible,” remarked Joy, but Sheila flew to the shop, where Ash waited._

 _She was dipped backward and kissed quite soundly in front of the giggling teenagers at the register. When he righted her, a rose was pressed into her open palm._

 _“Can you come out tonight?” he asked._

 _“Aye. Off at five.”_

 _“I’ll meet you here.” He kissed her neck. “Listen to the song,” he added, then left her with the music and flower._

 _***_

 _Ash looked warily around the S-Mart’s break room. “…Okay – I know I’m asking for it – but I’m willing to listen to advice…you should be grateful I’m doing this, by the way…so…how can I get Sheila to marry me?”_

 _“I’d start with your hair and go from there,” opined Walker._

 _“What about his breath?” Pearl offered._

 _Louie, typically, was his sole source of support. “Dude, you’re the KING; there’s nothing to change!”_

 _“He said he wanted advice,” Walker pointed out._

 _“He could use it,” Pearl added. “Have you read his poetry? My lord…”_

 _“I’M IN THE ROOM. I CAN HEAR WHAT YOU’RE SAYING,” Ash bellowed._

 _“Watch out, guys,” Walker laughed as he picked up his carton of orange juice. “The Ashbot 3000’s become sentient!” As Walker exited the room, April entered._

 _“Whatt’re we talking about?” she wondered._

 _“Ash is trying to convince his girlfriend to marry him, and he asked for advice,” Walker explained._

 _“He’s totes cool, and he doesn’t need any,” declared Louie peevishly._

 _“Ohhh…thirteenth century girlfriend or dead girlfriend?” April wondered._

 _“Which do you think?!” Ash retorted, then realized that the question was legitimate, and that technically it applied to both of them. “Thirteenth century,” he declared._

 _“Hmm,” April considered. “Show her that she’s special to you.”_

 _“Pretty hard to show a girl she’s special to you when you’re living in the same apartment you shared with your dead girlfriend…” Ash glared Walker down._

 _“You’re living in the same apartment? Sleeping in the same bed?” April winced. “If she was just an ex, it wouldn’t matter, but you’re kinda putting your new girlfriend in your old girlfriend’s jeans, without taking her name off of them.” Ash blinked at the odd choice of words, but April patted him on the shoulder and disappeared out the door, scolding Walker for his treatment of Ash, and leaving him with the words, “you’ll figure something out,”_

 _As Ash stomped out of the room in a confused state, Louie threw in, “you got out of Medieval London in one piece, King, you can totes figure out to get the girl!”_

 _***_

 __Visiting suitors were always gentlemanly with their courting of their intended. Restricted by the bounds of courtly passion, they were forced to express passion through the art of the caress, the kiss, the conversation…_ _

He didn’t try to kiss her.

He held open the door and showed her to her seat.

He let her order for herself.

He complimented her on her dress.

They took a short walk and he drove her back to her place.

The kiss was chaste.

He left her frustrated on the doorstep.

***

 _”Often, courtiers looked to their elders for assurance that their courtly gestures were correct…”_

“Are you feelin’ okay, hon?”

Ash looked up from the ridiculously delicate teacup held in his clumsy paw. “Huh? Oh, I’m okay,” he said. “Gram…I know this is gonna sound kind of dumb, but….could you teach me how to dance?”

A soft palm pressed against his forehead. “You sure you’re not sick, hon?”

“No!” Quietly, he said, “I’m trying to get Sheila to marry me. So I’m …romancing her.”

“Honey, if she doesn’t marry you she’ll be missin’ out on a heck of a fine man,” she patted his knee and stood up. “Whatcha want me to teach you?”

“Uh – anything slow…” he put down the delicate cup and backed away from her antique furniture. She showed him where to place his hands and led him into a slow waltz.

“You’re light on your feet,” she observed.

“Running from Deadites’ll do that for ya,” Ash pointed out.

“Your grandpa was like that; light on his feet,” a shadow crosses Betty’s face. “You’ll have her longer than I had him,” she showed him the steps. “A little longer here – step step step…”

“I got it…”

“Ash…”

“I GOT IT…”

“Ashley, honey, you’re on my foot.”

“…Oh.”

***

 _Yet many noblemen found a way to skirt by the rules that bound them to convention. It was, for them, a truly liberating experience. Love was not a crucial part of Medieval marriage, but sometimes, when the stars aligned just so, heaven could be had…_

***

“Ash, I cannot see before me…”

“Just keep going…watch out for the chair…sit down…” When he lifted his hands away from her eyes, she gasped – sitting in the middle of the room was a brand-new bed.

“Wanted to start fresh,” he said. It had taken the entirety of what had once been his ‘get laid in Hawaii fund’, and he wasn’t sorry – she seemed delighted. And it was a fine sleigh bed in dark mahogany, with royal blue sheets and a light violet quilt that took up the length of the bedroom entire. Damn, he actually owed April for telling him about that sale at Mattress King.

Sheila ran a contemplative palm over the silken covering, and met his eyes as he sank to his knees.

“I’m not going to promise you forever. There’s no such thing, baby – there’s just us, and the time we’ve got left. But I’ll promise you I’ll take care of you. I’ll save you…scratch that, I won’t save you, because I’ll make sure no one ever gets close enough to hurt you again. And I’ll make a life for the three of us that no one will be able to touch.” He took her hands in both of his. “I need you, baby. I don’t know if you need me, but it’s no good when I’m alone. I don’t sleep….” His grip tightened. “You make me feel human, sugar.”

She gave him a firm look. “Will thou givest me thy heart, Ashley?” His eyes turned toward her lap. “Will’est give me something smaller? I would have a daughter, Ashley. After I give thee a son, I would have a daughter for my own pleasure.”

“I’ll give you that, someday, and more.” He pulled her into his arms. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

He couldn’t give her what she wanted most of all. Not yet, if at all.

She grabbed him by the collar.

“Bring me sugar,” she demanded, pulling him against the front of her body, kissing him as hard as she could.

***

The windows were wide open – sunlight flooded in on the bed, highlighting the intertwined limbs of the couple in the bed. Her hands clutch him close, her eyes wide open and staring up into his face. Gentle amazement lit her features; she held his head close, her eyes half-open, blind in the bright afternoon light.

Gentle now – aware of the baby – he took his time. She soon overwhelmed his weak attempt at self-control - the mattress rocked, sweat dripping into her eyes, her teeth digging into his shoulder. Her nails stung their way down his back and he reared back, howling, pinning her to the mattress with his electrified body. Then nothing existed in the universe but peace and the rasping of their overworked lungs.

He climbed out of bed as the sun set, and pulled the ring from his bedside table. He took her left hand, slipped it into place, and kissed her folded fingers after slipping back under the covers with her.

Contented, she curled up against his side, fitting into the warmth of his embrace as if she had been molded exactly for him.

“No backing out, now,” he told her – and warned himself – before falling asleep.

***

 _It was a church._

 _A church filled with rotting corpses is still a church._

 _“You said you would love me forever.”_

 _The redhead stared at him from under the white lace veil._

 _“You said you’d never leave me…” She squeezed the bouquet of roses, and it oozed blood onto the floor. “You said forever…”_

 _“Linda…you’re…you can’t…you’re dead…” he backed away from her._

 _“Forever…promised me…forever…” Her flesh began to peel and crack, old statuary outliving its expectancies, muscle tissue and nerves exposed and falling to the ground. “Ever and ever Ash, ever and ever and ever…”_

When he awoke, it was not to the sound of his own screams, but the sound of Sheila breathing beside him.

He no longer knew what reality consisted of; what was up, what was down. But the woman lying beside him was made of flesh, and she needed him more than she would ever admit.

Blocking out the memories, shaking within, he closed his eyes and forced himself back to slumberland.


	10. I Believe In Love

“I still believe despite our differences that what we have’s enough. I believe in you, and I believe in love” - Emily Saliers, “I Believe In Love”  
***

 

*BEEP*

“Hey, you’ve reached Ash. I’m getting married on Saturday, so all hot strippers should run, not walk, to the Kit Kat Klub on Michigan Avenue Friday night at midnight to get in your last licks. If you’re not a hot stripper…why the hell do you have my number? Stop hogging the line!”

*BEEP*

“Mister Williams, this is Mark Gloss. Offer’s still on the table, and I guarantee you’ll look good.”

*BEEP*

“KING! S’Louie. Do you know how to get Cheetoh dust off a tux shirt? See you at the bachelor party! Oh, and I’m totes the best man, right?”

*BEEP*

“Sheila? It’s Joy. Yes to the cap sleeves, no to the poof. I’m doing this ‘cause I love you. Call me!”

*BEEP*

“…Ashley! What are you THINKING! Having an answering machine message like that? Your Aunt Gussie would FAINT. And PLEASE make sure that your father gets the CHICKEN. No FISH. It REPEATS on him.”

*BEEP*

“ASH-Lay! It’s Scotty, bro! Me ‘n’ Shelly just got back from Panama! We’ll be flying in Wednesday, so if you wanna meet for drinks on Thursday, I’m game, man. By the way – I’m still your best man, right?”

***

“…So you can start your registry right here,” Ash said, handing the nervous-looking groom-to-be and his more formidable bride each a pricing gun. He picked up his own gun and pointed it toward a strip of bar coding right under a line of cheap crystalware. “Just point this end of the gun here…on any barcode, click the trigger..” the gun made a pleasant cheeping noise. “And the item will be registered in your name. If you want two, click twice, three three times, and so on. When you’re done, come back to the register and we’ll finish off those forms.”

The bleary-eyed couple staggered away, as Ash called over his shoulder that they should shop smart…the ‘shop S-Mart part’ died in his throat when Louie intercepted him at the end of the aisle.

His eyes were overbright with excitement. “King! You gonna be busy during your break?”

Ash tried to concoct a quick lie, but Louie was giving him one of those pathetic puppy-dog looks and he resigned himself, scrubbing his face with his right hand. “Guess so. Sheila and Joy are running over last-minute wedding stuff, so she won’t need me. What do you want?”

Louie grinned, and Ash suddenly realized what that oddly off-key twanging noise was – Louie had strapped on a beat-up old acoustic guitar. He strummed across the body of the instrument experimentally. “I just wanted to give you a little preview of the all night rockfest Splattergor’s cooking up for your reception!”

Ash rose a brow. “What?”

“…I was thinking we could totally start with ‘Big Bottom’ and segue into ‘Break on Through’. And we close with a little Pink…” He strummed a shrill, metallic note that made Ash block his ears and grimace. “I think maybe we could work in some ‘Lido Shuffle if you wanna,’” Louie yelled over the noise. “Hey, how long do you need us to play? I wanted to go past midnight, but the last time Wen Li let me do it up at the Red Fan they cut us off at eleven. Stupid noise complaints…”

“Woah woah woah….STOP THAT.” Ash snagged the guitar, pressing his fingers down hard against the strings and silencing them. “Who the hell hired you to play the reception?”

Louie’s countenance turned conflicted. “Uh…”

***

“I wished to tell thee, milord,” Sheila’s voice crackled with tension as Ash pressed closer to the pay phone, cramming the earpiece into his neck uncomfortably.

“Yeah yeah – Christ, I don’t believe you did this!” Ash glanced over his shoulder; with Louie nowhere to be found, he hissed into the phone, “he sings like a castrated donkey!”

“So he might,” Sheila replied, “but he art our friend, Ashley. A dear and close companion who hath supported us through many trials…”

And in less than a moment, Ash felt lower than a worm. He sighed. “I didn’t say he couldn’t play.”

“Ye do not wish him to, milord. I would not have ye displeased.” Sheila’s voice teetered on the edge of hysteria.

Ash, belatedly realizing that upsetting a pregnant woman might be a bad idea, immediately switched gears. “Forget it.” More softly, he asked, “how do you feel?”

“Tired,” Sheila explained. “My feet ache, and wedding plans proceed too slowly. Tis crowded here.” That didn’t surprise Ash – it was June, month of the bride. That Ash doesn’t have time enough to breathe comes as a surprise to everyone but the man himself. He’s survived three wedding seasons at the S-Mart, and in his department they’ve been endlessly busy; hours had been spent figuring out the new computer-driven wedding registry system, and pushing moderately-priced glassware, flatware and dishes on the low-to-medium-income families of Dearborn.

“So, stay off your feet,” Ash orders. “Are they working you to death over there?”

“Nay – I sit often. Ashley, ye will bring by thy friend…thy Scott tonight, will ye not?” Her voice took on a curious tremor of anxiety.

“I’m meeting ’em at the hotel after work. We’ll pick you up at work and head to the Red Fan.”

“Very well. I shall not displease thee, milord.”

Ash grimaced as he picked a wad of gum out of his hair. “I know you won’t, baby.” The truth of the matter would worry her.

If anyone was going to embarrass them, it would be Scott.

 

***

“ASH-LAY!”

Ash winced as he collides, chest-first, with Scott. “Christ, man…” he pushes his friend back a little, aware that they were being watched by a goodly portion of the lobby’s denizens. “You got fat!”

Scott glowered at Ash. “It’s not fat – it’s insulation for a sex machine.”

“So he says,” smirked Shelly, before tackling Ash. “I don’t believe you’re getting married!” She frowned at him and ruffled his hair gently. “Geez, Ash, age a little,” she complained.

Instantly, he fell into their old, teasing rhythms. “It’s the baby’s blood I bathe in. Makes my skin soft.”

Shelly chuckled, punching him softly in the gut. Ash swayed a little on his feet to humor her. “So, how’s Tanzania been treating you?” he asked.

“Eh, same old same old,” Scotty retorted.

“We’re done with Tanzania, actually. There’s an outpost in Mozambique waiting for me,” Shelly tells Ash. “This is our last stopover before we fly back on Tuesday. Consider yourself lucky, old man.”

Ash smirked. “Yeah, lucky.”

“I forgot to ask – where are you working now, man?” Scotty wondered.

Ash grimaced. “Still at the S-Mart.”

Shelly’s features cinched. “Oh,” she said, her voice filled with pity. “Still in housewares?”

“Uh…yeah.” The two of them had graduated three years ago; Shelly was in the Peace Corps, and Scotty followed her, happy to sack out on humid jungle floors, possessing no true ambition of his own.

Silence filled the room, and Ash squirmed against the wall, feeling out-of-place in the richly furnished lobby of the Hilton. When had Scotty become a Hilton person?

“SO!” Scotty said with forced brightness, “I guess we should get going!”

Shelly eagerly followed both men out the door, her trendy handbag swinging against her left hip. “We’re so excited to meet your fiancée, Ash.”

He smiled to hide his nerves. “You guys are going to love her,” he insisted.

Or so he hoped.

***

Sheila stood on her tip-toes, awaiting the familiar honk of Ash’s Delta 88. Chewing her lower lip, she considered running down to the neighboring Dekkar Convenience to pick up a fresh bundle of roses. It was ill-fitting, to receive guests without tribute.

She trembled slightly when the horn blasted its rhythmic impatience, making her stand a little straighter. The child within her kicked violently, and she automatically reached down and petted the unborn one within her. “Sleep, darling. No harm shall come to thee.”

Already disobedient, the child gave her a hard, willful kick in response. “Thy sire’s child, and so soon,” she remarked, approaching the car with well-communicated confidence.

The situation was serious enough for Ash to get out of the car and pull open the passenger side door, a huge, obviously fake grin on his face. “HI Sheila. How was YOUR day?”

Sheila blinked, taking a tentative step forward – it was obvious that Ash had no idea that he sounded just like his mother. “I lack complaint,” she seated herself, putting on her safety belt, and peering into the back seat.

There was a gentleman – much thinner than Ash, though of a similar height – with a thinning dirty-blonde mullet and a pencil mustache and a loud bright pink tropical-print shirt and baggy jeans. Beside him sat a woman with a mall perm and an electric blue off-the-shoulder t-shirt and painted on jeans, her blue eyes alert.

“You’re Sheila! I’m Shelly – this is Scott…Scott, say hello…” The woman’s strained politeness said much in the silence that followed. _You’re not Linda._ Maybe it was easier to be accepting of Sheila’s presence when they weren’t physically confronted by it – Sheila felt a stroke of dismay cleave through her hope. She wasn’t what they wanted, or expected.

Scott offered his hand. “Nice to meet you, Sheila. You’re lucky to be with Ash. He’s a stand-up guy.” His eyes had landed upon her midriff.

Ash climbed into the car, glanced over his shoulder at his passengers and back at Sheila. Frowning, he snapped, “don’t make me turn the car around, kids,” he gunned the motor. “I made reservations, damn it.”

“We’re cool, bud,” Scott said, watching Sheila curiously. “So…when’s the kid due?”

Ash’s shoulders stiffened – Sheila wondered if he’d hoped to sneak her pregnancy by them – how incredibly foolish of him. How incredibly, unsurprisingly foolish…. “October,” Ash said. He winced. “Around Halloween.”

“Makes sense,” Scott said. Somehow – to Sheila’s mild distress – it did.

The car was hauntingly silent as it passed through downtown .

***

Gathered in a corner booth at the Red Fan, the width of Ash’s shoulders pressed Sheila into the wall. Jack stared at the group of them appraisingly as he took their order -Ash, of course, spoke for all of them, and no one thought to make much of a protest at his choice until Scotty ordered a Scorpion Bowl, and told Ash that they would have to share it together.

“Just like back in college, right, man? Only you don’t have to swallow a goldfish afterward.” As Ash winced, Scotty continued, “did Ash ever told you about the time we pledged the Alpha Beta Kegga together?”

“That wasn’t their real name,” Ash growled.

“Yeah, they were the Alpha Beta…Karatine? Some kinda ‘k’ word. Anyway, Ash was dogging this stacked chiquita from the Beta Towaa…remember her, Shel? She had

Ash caught Sheila’s wrist as she reached for her glass of Pepsi. “Don’t listen to him,” he muttered.

“And why should I not?” she smiled at Scott. “Continue thy discourse, fair sir.”

Sheila listened with arch fascination in her expression as Scotty ran through the entire embarrassing affair, which included Ash’s underwear being run up a rival fraternity’s flagpole. “So we had to get a pair of panties from his crush, Terri Bainbridge….”

Ash glowered, wondering why Scott didn’t even have the decency to take that part of the story out. Beside him, Sheila giggled.

“…So then, Ash tells the house mother ‘we’re from the FBI, ma’am!’ and he starts talking about this defective shipment of bras…” Scott took a draught from the scorpion bowl. “They put us on suspension for a month. I didn’t mind much.”

“Your folks minded a hell of a lot!” Ash tossed in.

Scott shrugged, winningly. “I met Shel two days later.”

“We wouldn’t have had the time to get to know each other if he’d had a full set of classes,” Shelly pointed out, squeezing Scott’s hand. A lump formed in Ash’s throat, and he downed a dizzying amount of the scorpion bowl to choke it down.

Sheila squeezed his shoulder. “Ashley, ye’ll become sore-headed.”

“I don’t care,” he growled softly. He couldn’t admit to her aloud that it hurt to see the two of them together, that it reminded him of what he’d lost in losing Linda.

At this point in the evening, their dinner arrived. Over dim sum, Scott and Shelly continued to expound on the joys of their vagabond life, making Ash feel smaller and smaller, turning his answers into sarcastic little bites of sound; Scott indulged his comments. Miraculously, Ash spotted a familiar head of dirty blond hair hanging around the bar as Jack gathered up their empty dishes. “LOUIE!” he barked, instantly drawing the kid’s attention.

“Hey, King,” he grinned vacuously, then noted the spread. “SCORPION BOWL! SWEET!” In an instant he’s seated himself beside Scotty and picked up an unattended straw.

“Scott, Shelly - this is Louie,” Ash said, desperation in his tone. “He works in automotives at the S-Mart. Louie, this’s Shelly and Scotty. They’re old friends.”

“Oh, bitchin! Any friend of the Kings is totes a friend of mine,” Louie said breezily. “We’ve so gotta cruise around Dearborn, get to know each other better, ‘specially ‘cause I’m the best man…”

“He’s your best man?” Scott asked archly.

“I never said that,” Ash snarled, his teeth gritted together.

“Waittil I show ya my threads, King,” Louie plunged on. “Would you believe I had to look all over West Mich to find a powder blue tux with a leopard-print bowtie?”

Ash opened his mouth but Sheila quickly elbowed him to silence.

“Leopard print?” Scott asked, his eyes lighting up. “Ash-lay, when did you grow taste, man? I gotta see this suit, I GOTTA see it…”

“Those aren’t the wedding colors….” Ash furiously scrubbed a hand over his features.

“Dude, I can totes get you a copy!!” Louie moved closer to Scott and added, “I didn’t pick up the light-up bowtie, but I can totes get you one cheap. I know a guy who knows a guy at the Big and Tall.”

“SWEET,” Scott poked Ash. “Where have you been hiding this dude, man?”

“Under a rock. That’s where I shoulda left him…”

Neither Scott nor Louie noticed Ash’s growl. They immediately sank into a protracted conversation about bodysurfing while Sheila and Shelly started talking about hairstyles and flowers and the upcoming wedding.

“Are you going to go on a honeymoon?” Shelly asked.

“We lack the funds and the time. Though I do wish I could see England once more…” Sheila’s whist made him feel guilty, and Ash sank deeper and deeper into a miserable drunken stupor, his self-pity swallowing him up in gradual gulps.

“Well,” Louie declared at the end of the night, when Sheila sat droopy-eyed beside Ash, when Ash himself had turned bleary and morose from the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. “I’m thinking it’s time I get these two home.”

“Whaddya mean? I can drive…” Ash stood up, swayed, and landed with a soft thud onto the cushion behind him.

“No, dude,” Louie said quite seriously. “You totes can’t.”

Sheila tucked her hand beneath Ash’s armpit, lifting him to his feet by clutching his upper arm. Noting her struggle, Scott came around the table to take the other one.

“So like the old days, dude,” Scott laughed, helping Ash stagger to the parking lot, where he was buckled into the passenger side seat under a torrent of verbal protest and flailing arms.

“Give him your keys, man,” Scott told Ash.

“I said I’m…” a wave of dizziness swept over Ash and he grunted aloud, then pulled the keys from his pocket and handed them to Scott.

Louie took the keys. “Hey, I’ll see you at the bachelor party tomorrow,” he said to Scott.

“Why should we wait, man? It’s been years since I’ve done a bar crawl, if you’re up for it.”

“Dude, I know this totally wicked place on American Drive…”

“LOUIE,” Ash barked. With an apologetic smile, Louie climbed into the car, plunged his keys into the ignition and took off.

The short ride back to Ash’s apartment was eclipsed by Louie’s praise of Scott, and Sheila’s subsequent agreement. Ash – dizzy-headed – simply rested his head against the window, leaving a hair gel smudge on the glass.

Louie helped Sheila get Ash into the apartment and on the couch. When they were alone, Ash rolled over onto his left side and closed his eyes. “Shut off the light,” he ordered.

“Aye. I am to bed,” Sheila said. “Ashley, do ye wish for an aperitif? Perhaps…”

“Please just lock the door and go to bed,” he growled.

And at his instruction, she did.

***

It was the sort of sleep a dying man might enjoy – deep and long. Ash dreamed of nothing in those black hours before waking, only feeling warmth, the caress of Sheila’s hand across his brow.

“Love?”

“Mph.” Ash’s temples throbbed dangerously, informing him quite succinctly that moving might be a bad idea.

“Do you not wish to come to bed?” Sheila asked, her tone perilously worried.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Nah. I’m fine here.”

A note of mirth entered her tone. “Doth ye need the bucket?”

“Not right now.” The idea of throwing up in front of his fiancée was a humiliating notion that made Ash blanch a little.

“Well met, then.” She left him to his shame and frustration in the cool darkness.

**

In the blazing morning he needed the bucket, and she tended to him with an embarrassingly practical sense of tenderness.

He lay still upon the couch as she whipped up a plate of dry toast and a pot of tea in the kitchen. The dizziness had been replaced by a throbbing in his temples. “Gimmie some Advil,” he finally requested when she arrived with the invalid’s breakfast.

She returned moments later with a Dixie Cup of water and the pills. “Perhaps ye should avoid work today,” she suggested. “Ye may be ill.”

“Toldja - I’m not sick,” Ash grunted, downing the pills. “I drank too much last night.”

“Aye, but ye’ll have a headache and sore head the day through,” she worried, kneeling to brush her fingers over his left temple.

He pushed away her nurturing touch. “I said I’m fine!”

Sheila grumbled softly as she headed to the kitchen. The rattling of her breakfast dishes sounded like a sonic explosion to Ash. She sat down beside him, a hefty plate of bacon and toast and orange juice at the ready. “Shall I eat this in the bedroom?”

He had survived the scent of her making it, so he shrugged. Sheila sat beside him, and they ate companionably.

“Tis a sorrowful thing,” Sheila said, “that ye and Scott do not see eye to eye.”

“We’re fine,” Ash grumbled.

“There is discomfort between thee. I can see it in thy countenance.”

He glared at her, unnerved by her picking away at his pretexts. “People change, baby. We’re just trying to get used to each other again.”  
“Aye. Tis a most trying lesson. At least for thee.” Sheila gathered the discarded dishes and took them to the kitchen, where she ran water over them. “Ye really should stay home.”

He watched her. “You already called in sick for me, didn’t you?”

“Aye. Ye have ten sick days left, and I do believe this one has been earned.”

“Baby…”

“You will not quarrel with me, Ashley.”

He grumbled, falling silent upon the couch. A beautiful smile lit her eyes as she headed to the couch and kissed his forehead. “Please do call me, if ye need me.”

When the door closed behind her he fell into an instantaneous, peaceful sleep.

***

The late afternoon brought boredom and apathy. Ash stared at the TV, a baloney sandwich and beer safely consumed and hours to burn until he had to dress for his bachelor party. How could anyone with a fully functional mind stand to watch soap operas day in and day out?

The phone rang, cutting off his internalized ranting.

“Mister Williams? Mark Gloss here…” a brisk voice informed him.

“Yeah I’ve got your damn messages,” Ash grumbled.

“Ahh, I…see.” Gloss’ confidence suddenly muted. “Then you’re not planning on selling your story?”

Ash opened his mouth to issue a biting retort. Instead of that bitterness, memories of Scott came to the fore. Scott with his perfect relationship, Shelly who could give Scott anything he wanted, a couple who didn’t have to scrimp and save to put together a wedding. It shamed him that he couldn’t give Sheila the honeymoon she’d once spoken of wistfully – a trip back to England to visit the Kandar excavation site.

All he could give her was his name and his body.

No, not his body – he shuddered at the notion that evoked. But now, now he could give her this…

“We’re doing this on my terms,” Ash snarled.

“Understood. I’m willing to pay you good money for this, Mister Williams, and we can finish it all this afternoon at WYTX.”

“Which’d be?”

“Exclusivity and willingness to allow our editors to work freely with the materials given to them.”

Ash thought of himself – of his already-lost dignity. Then he thought of Sheila, of their rent lives, of the healing closure might bring her. “WYTX?” He asked.

“We can open a studio for you by eight.”

Ash glanced at the clock. That gave him an hour to shower, shave and dress. He took a long, deep breath before he answered.

“You’ve got a deal.”

***

Louie couldn’t say which part of Ash’s appearance he found more startling – his neatly-combed hair or the carefully pressed suit – as the groom-to-be entered the Kit Kat Club just past midnight that evening. “King,” he yelled over the strains of Warrant’s “Cherry Pie”, “d’you go and get married without us?”

Ash looked from Louie to Scott, who was in the middle of a lap dance and thus otherwise occupied, to Walker, who was trying to flirt with their makeup-spackled waitress, to Tony, Ash’s sparring partner at Tai Kwon Do class. Louie was proud of himself for organizing the party so quickly, but that pride evaporated at Ash’s stark expression. “You started without me.” His growl held a tad of irritation.

“You’re an hour late,” Tony pointed out, around a mug of beer.

Ash shrugged, slipping into the booth. “Got tied up with something.” Louie opened his mouth. “You’ll all find out about it soon.” He slapped the table and turned to the waitress. “One round on him,” he pointed at Louie. “Beer – nothing too fancy.”

“He’s the groom?” their waitress asked, trying to pry herself from Walker’s grip.

“That’s me,” Ash grumbled, sinking back casually in the booth. At that point a redhead in six-inch heels squeaked, running up to Ash, her curls flying over her shoulder.

“How’s my favorite customer?” she asked, the buckles on her policewoman’s costume shining in the dim lights.

He laughed, petting the girl’s arm. “Pretty damn good, darlin’.”

“The usual?”

A shrug. “For old time’s sake.”

“Old time’s sake?” she had taken on a seductive stance, and his announcement caused her legs to buckle slightly, the seductive pose taking on an unappealingly gawky look.

“Getting married tomorrow,” he said, smiling. Louie smiled back at him, and Ash wiped the grin off of his face and said gravely, “getting knotted up with a classy lady.”

“TO CLASSY!” Louie said.

“TO SHEILA!” yelled Scott, who turned back to the girl in his lap. “Anyway, I was considering going into marketing when…” he tucked a five dollar bill into her g-string as he continued the story.

“Yeah, she’s a fine gal,” Ash said, as he stared at the stripper’s cleavage.

“He knocked her up,” Walker announced, which earned him a quick glare from Ash.

The stripper chuckled. She’d mounted the space beside his thigh, a knee on the arm of the couch, a knee on the sofa between Ash and Louie.

“I’m so happy for you,” she said, swiveling her hips, bringing her breasts tantalizingly close to his face. Louie watched, open-mouthed, as she unstrapped her bra. She caught him looking and gave him a smile that combined indulgence and fondness. “You want one next, kid?”

“I’ll pay for it,” Ash offered, watching her breasts, his fingers tapping idly against the arm of the couch to the rhythm of the music.

“Dude, you don’t have to,” he muttered.

“Might as well be nice to you tonight – you did set this all up.”

“TO LOUIE!” Tony yelled from the surface of the table.

“To Louie!” echoed Walker, who watched their waitress walk away. “She wants me,” he bragged, the second she was out of earshot.

“She’s gay, hon,” the stripper writhing against Ash’s lap said. She had crowned Ash with her policeman’s hat and he sat peering out from underneath it.

Ash barked out a laugh as Walker sputtered. “But she was coming on to me!” he yelled.

“’Cause she keeps her tips,” Ash responded. “It’s called being nice to the customer.”

“Yeah, dude,” Louie chortled. “I’ve never even been in a place like this and I knew that!”

Ash laughed harder, so hard that his head fell backward and he banged his head against the back of the booth. “I knew you were a strip-club virgin!”

“I’m…” Louie frowned, but then quickly pasted his usual easy-going smile onto his face. “I’m not a virgin anything!”

“Yeah, that’s why your eyes’re about to bust out of your head.” He smiled and cocked his head. “Brandy, darlin’, go rock his world.”

“Are you sure…” Brandy worried.

“It’s all up to him,” Ash said, with a shrug. He’d already taken a ten dollar bill out of his wallet and was tucking it fondly into the front belt of her g-string.

Louie grinned. “You’re the best friend a guy ever had, King.”

The girl smoothly left Ash’s lap and, with a series of quick gyrations, made her way over to Louie’s. His mind went utterly blank as the smiling girl moved seductively before him, barely touching his skin, all of her within tantalizing reach, none of it touchable.

The song, after torturous moments, finally stopped. She smiled, taking the two singles Louie held out and tucking them into her g-string. “Thanks, hon.”

“I love you,” Louie whimpered.

Ash threw his head back, laughing loudly. “Virgin,” he declared, then drained his beer.

Brandy took back her hat. “Be a good boy, Ash,” she purred.

“Like I told my girl last night – I’m always good,” he told her retreating form. Scott had already lost the girl he’d been entertaining. Their waitress returned at that point, with the beer…and a pitcher-sized glass filled with something Windex-colored.

“For the groom,” she elucidated, “the house drink, made of pure Stolli Vodka, blueberry schnapps, lime juice and sugar, compliments of the house for his years of loyal patronage.”

“Years?” Louie murmured. Ash could have any woman he wanted, but he spent enough time at this club to be a well-known customer – he couldn’t comprehend the dichotomy.

Ash didn’t notice Louie’s confusion, and stared at the cocktail with impressed fascination. “Tell the house thanks, but I don’t wanna get shitfaced tonight.”

Scott frowned. “The Ash I knew wouldn’t turn down booze for anything.”

“Yeah, well…”

“The Ash I knew used to drink shit like this for breakfast and wash it down with bottles of jack!”

Ash stared at the drink. Looked back at Scott. And his gaze hardened.

“Gimmie two.”

***

A wave of chilly water breaking over his face brought Ash to abrupt consciousness. His tongue felt like a heavy, sand-coated sweat sock; his head pounded violently, and his stomach churned.

Very carefully, he opened one eye. The woman standing before him was precisely the last person he wanted to see at that moment. “Oh shit…”

Joy smirked, her features upside-down. “Does the dress look that bad?” she mocked.

Ash groaned. Rapidly, he became aware of his surroundings. Somehow Ash’s hands had been bound before him by a double-knotted length of close line, and the line had been bound to the front post of a merry-go-round.

The big Kiddie-Go-Round mounted outside the S-Mart.

“Please tell me you’re the first person…”

“No one saw you,” Joy said. “As far as I know. I’m surprised store security didn’t try to cut you down.”

“They wouldn’t,” Ash muttered. “Jealous bastards.” He’d spent a lot of time arguing with the Keystone Cops Smart had hired to look after the store over the past few months.

Joy bent down, pulling the hem of her dress up to reveal the heel of a combat boot. Ash’s eyes went wide as she withdrew a switchblade and approached him.

“Don’t go all chosen one on me,” Joy snickered. “There’s no other way to get you off of this thing.”

He eyed the structure. “I could bend it…”

“No you couldn’t. You’d break the whole thing with that hand.”

He stared at the blade as it gleamed an inch from his good wrist. “Fashion designer like you can’t untie knots?” She ignored his jab and went to work, and as Joy stood behind him and began to whittle her way through the rope, Ash realized how very chilly his chest and thighs felt. “Joy, where the hell are my pants?”

“At the church,” she informed him. “Scott apparently thought it’d be funny to tie you here after you passed out cold last night.” She grinned as she split the rope. “Louie’s guilty conscious got to him and he told me where they left you.”

Ash pulled his hands free of the knot and began to rub his numb left hand, drawing blood back into the numbed limb. “What the hell did I do last night?” he groaned. His eyes bulged as Joy threw him his bathrobe. “Damn Scott,” he growled, donning the robe.

“I’d say he feels pretty well damned already. His girlfriend hasn’t let up since Louie spilled his guts. Now c’mon, get your butt in my car.”

“You trying to pick me up?” He tried in vain to shield his eyes from the sun.

“Sorry, I don’t sleep with doomed men. Doomed men with ‘dead meat’ scribbled across their foreheads in black marker…”

“…Oh fuck.” Ash rubbed at his forehead helplessly.

“You’re gonna smear it. Just leave everything the way it is and get in the car – I’ll take you to the church.”

Ash frowned down at himself as he cinched a knot in its chord. “You don’t mind that I’m…”

“If you weren’t wearing that,” she said sweetly, “I’d tell you to hitchhike.”

***

Moments later, Ash sat in a chair in the groom’s parlor at the Saint Catherine Chapel, squeezing his eyes shut as his grandmother scrubbed away at the black marker on his forehead.

“Okay,” she declared, wiping her hands upon the luxuriously thick towel she’d set on the marble sink beside her. “It’s gone.”

“Are you sure, Gram?” Ash took advantage of the break in his dunking by taking a deep draught of coffee.

She passed him a towel. “You can’t even see it.”

Ash stood up, turned around, and mopped his face. He let out a relieved sigh. “Thanks,” he murmured, dropping the towel into the waiting sink.

Gram Betty automatically reached over and took Ash’s tie into hand, knotting it. Sheila, being blessed with foresight, had brought his suit to the church, along with his shoes, and the second he reached his dressing room he fairly leapt into the shower and then into the simple dark suit she had selected for the occasion.

Gram Betty looked up at Ash, her eyes shining, as she pinned a red carnation onto his lapel, one plucked from Mandy Klein’s garden.

“You grew up good and strong, honey,” she told him, gently brushing her gnarled hands against his cheeks. “It wasn’t an easy way, but it was a good way.”

He chuckled. “Don’t think I’d call this good,” he admitted in a low voice, gesturing with his metal hand.

“You’re alive, Ashley. That’s what’s important.” She patted his shoulders. “Handsome as the devil, just like your grandfather.”

Ash stiffened. He’d seen the devil, the ugly face of hell incarnated. How could he protect Sheila from returning to that place? How could he protect their child? He sighed – a deep, low grunt – as he stooped to hug her. “I love you.”

She chuckled. “I love you too, hon.” She squeezed his shoulder just once before releasing Ash. “Come on, it’s time to see you married.”

Gram Betty took his hand and drew him from the bathroom into the main room, where a coterie of females awaited Ash’s appearance with cooing appreciation. Ash soaked in their praise with amusement – the mild praise of Mandy Klein, and the tears of his mother. His groomsmen were no where in sight, a wise thing, for Ash wanted to do nothing but ball them out. He felt waterlogged and decidedly embarrassed when he finally pried himself from her embrace and walked them both down into the main body of the chapel.

Louie, Scott and Tony fidgeted on the altar, all of them in their ill-matched and oddly-colored tuxedos. It was Louie who rushed up to Ash to apologize, nearly blinding him with that neon blue coat. “Dude, I’m so sorry! You were so bombed we couldn’t get you to walk straight…”

“You kept saying ‘I wanna ride the horses!’” Scott added.

Ash held out a hand. “I forgive you, Louie.” He gave Scott a deliberate glare as he placed Sheila’s wedding ring in Louie’s outstretched palm. “YOU’RE going to be my best man.”

Louie’s face lit right up. “DUDE I’m so honored!”

“But,” Scott cried out. “Dude, we’ve been friends since we were NINE.”

“You keep bringing up the past,” Ash growled, “like it matters.”

“The old Ash would…”

“…The old Ash is dead,” he said. “He died back in that lousy cabin. I don’t know who the hell I am man…but I’m too old to slam booze every night like a fucking nineteen year old.” Scott stared at Ash, his usual merriment dulled by his friend’s reaction. “We’re always gonna be friends,” Ash declared. “But it’s gonna take me awhile to get over you leaving me to rot in that parking lot.”

“Hey…I was just joking, man.”

“I know,” Ash growled. ‘Guess I’m not in a joking mood anymore.”

An understanding formed silently. A nod of the head and the argument concluded.

Ash took his place beside the minister, someone Sheila had recruited. He’d lived in Dearborn for five years; in her five months here she’d amassed more friends than he’d ever had. The small crowd of people occupying the church confirmed that for Ash – all of her friends from the shop had attended, even her boss, Miss Elanie. Ash had a few friends of his own - Walker, Pearl and April, April being involuntarily squired by an obsequious Walker, Pearl having brought her husband and a hat twice the size of her head. He had his grandmother, his mother, and – to his amazement – his father, who sat glowering up at him as if he weren’t doing the exact thing he’d advised him to so many months ago.

The processional began at exactly six – just as Sheila had planned it. Joy walked to the altar alone – Ash could understand why she’d complained about her dress, it was rather grand, puff-sleeved, an excess of feminine lace and frippery. It wouldn’t have looked so amiss, had she not been clearly uncomfortable in the outfit.

Ash spared a glance for Louie. His enraptured expression bespoke his lust better than words could. Ash snickered beneath his breath. The kid had it so bad….

He couldn’t face the fact that he had it worse, even as Sheila made time freeze for him as she approached to the strains of an ancient sounding fanfare. She wore a flattering dress, long and elegant, which emphasized her shoulders and breasts, suggesting the roundness of her belly. A bouquet of blossoms plucked from Mandy’s garden held between her hands, along with a string of Oakwood prayer beads.

He didn’t realized until she whispered in his ear as she took and squeezed his left hand, facing the minister beside him.

“I wear thy colors, milord.”

He glanced down as the minister began his homily. The dress was blue, as blue as his shirt had been the first time they’d met, as blue as the shirt she’d made for him had been. He caught her glimmering gaze and gave her a cocky grin just before Louie headed to the pulpit.

“A reading,” he said dramatically. “from the book of the King.”

“Good Christ,” Ash grumbled.

“’On the ninth day of the eighth month of the one thousand and sixty-ninth year, a man was born. A man who saved all of humanity from the terror of an ever-living death. They call that man ‘Ash’…”

Ash tuned out the rest of the little speech. Whatever Joy had planned as a follow-up had to be better. When she climbed into the pulpit and, without any other accompaniment, simply began to sing ‘Ave Maria’, Ash’s jaw dropped. He glanced sideways at a beaming Sheila and a grinning Louie. Her voice was flawless.

“She’s a goddess,” muttered Louie.

“Thought I was God,” Ash retorted, as they readied for communion.

“You can’t sing like that,” Louie murmured.

What Ash would carry within himself forever was the sensation of taking his wife’s slim hand in his and slipping a golden band onto her ring finger, marking herhis woman.

He recited the vows she had selected. "I, Ashley, give my body to you, Sheila in loyal matrimony."

 

"And I receive it," she said, taking his hand. "I, Sheila, give my body to you, Ashley."

"And I receive it."

Their voices echoed powerfully around the small chapel. Candlelight glowed, lighting Sheila’s radiant features, making her seem ethereally perfect. She reached out and cupped his cheek – instinctively. Ash’s heart sped up.

The minister pronounced them.

Then he kissed his wife for an exorbitantly long time.

****

The wild merriment that surrounded the little group brightened Ash’s demeanor. They nearly at the Red Fan out of business, quickly devoured a white sheet cake with lemon filling and yellow flowers made by Ash’s mother, then crowded the dance floor with their wild, clomping gyrations.

Louie took the stage some time after nine. Ash watched from the back of the room, his arm around Sheila, as they danced awkwardly, slowly, no matter the tempo of the music.

“It doesn’t sound so bad from back here,” he pointed out.

“Ashley, ye’re cruel,” she complained. “Truly ‘tisn’t…” at that point, Louie lurched into a thrash metal/polka version of Madonna’s “Papa Don’t Preach” and she winced. “He happens to be inventive.”

“Yeah – that’s what they said about the guy who designed the Hindenburg.” At that point, a metallic crunch sounded from the front of the room – Louie had unsuccessfully attempted a stage dive. Abruptly, Ash reached over, scooped his wife up, and shouted over his shoulder, “WE’RE LEAVING!”

His mother raised a soft protest, but Ash shook her off. “We have to get into bed early. Got a trip to plan.”

“A trip? Ashley!” Sheila squeaked.

“…And it’s not good for the baby…” He was silence by a handful of rice as it pasted him in the mouth. He ran, laughing, up the street, Sheila safely ensconced in his arms.

“Ye’ll hurt thyself!” Sheila laughed, and other protests of a like nature, as he ran all the way back to their apartment without stopping. Lying her on their bedcovers, he silenced her worries with a quick kiss. Her hands wormed through his hair, trying to draw his mouth closer to hers, to suck on his tongue.

He broke the kiss. “I’ve got something to show you.”

She frowned as they separated. He reached over, to the side table, and picked up a video cassette. He plunged it into the player. Sheila watched quietly as the episode cued up.

She gasped when she saw his face. She listened in silence as they retold his story, the tale of his victory. When it ended, he handed her an envelope.

“We’re going to Europe in two weeks.”

Sheila sputtered. “But…thy time away…”

“We’re going over the weekend.”

Sheila looked down, to her lap. “Ye’dn’t do this, Milord. It shall not have any benefit for thy well-being.”

He cupped her chin. “I did it for you.”

Tears filled her eyes as she tilted her head and accepted his greedy kiss in the trade.

****

He recalled gentleness this time. Lying face-down in her hair, naked from head to toe, Ash sighed and nuzzled Sheila’s sweaty neck.

He turned his head and opened his eyes to see her watching, a grin stretching her lips.

He ran his fingers through her hair, over her shoulder. “I l-“

CLANG! “THIZZZZ LUVVVV STRUCCCK ROHMEEEO SINGSS A STREEEETLIGHT SEREEEENADDDEEEEE!”

“The hell?!”

SMASH! “HEEIZ LAYYYING EVERRRYEEEE BUUUUUUDDDDDEEEEEE LOHHHHHH, HE’SSSSS GOTTTTALOVEOSONGTHATHEMADEEEEE…”

Ash quickly donned his shorts and headed to the window. Louie and Scott stood in the street, swaying together, each holding a bottle of beer.

“Keep it down!” Ash bellowed.

“Hey, Louie…s’Ash!” Scott smiled.

“S’the king!” Louie grinned.

“What are you shitheads doing down there?” Ash asked.

“S’a shivaree, king!” Louie said.

“Yeah, like they did back in your old lady’s time!”

“You meatheads!” Ash growled. “They did that back in the eighteen-seventy-something….I think.”

“We ain’t leavin’ till we see your old lady’s underwear waving from the fire escape!” Scott said.

“It’s tradition!” Louie added, swaying on his feet.

Ash growled. “You rotten…”

“YOU ANNNND MEEEE BAYYYYBE HOOOOW ABOUUUT ITTT?” They sang, in horrendous tandem. Two seconds later, an empty water glass was flung from the window at high-speed, over Ash’s shoulder and to the ground below.

Everything stopped. Ash glanced over his shoulder. In the dim light Sheila was visible, and she wore his tee shirt, which skirted the middle of her thigh.

She gave the two interlopers a firm look, then gave a curtsey. “Gentlemen.”

With that, their little Greek chorus looped arms around each other and sashayed drunkenly up the street, singing all the way.

Ash smirked. “I hope the kid gets your throwing arm,” he said.

And, without further discourse, picked her up, placed her over his shoulder, and took her back to bed.


	11. History of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ash and Sheila honeymoon in England.

“So we must love while these moments are still called today  
Take part in the pain of this passion play  
Stretching our youth as we must, until we are ashes to dust  
Until time makes history of us - Emily Saliers: “History of Us”

***

 _They were baying for his blood again, those rotting forms that had once been his sister, his lover, his best friend. They wanted to break him open, give his soul to the demons, and use his body to spread their disease over the land._

 _His hands shake as he holds the shotgun._

 _*Creak!*_

 _The turn he took to spin himself around left Ash dizzy, gasping against the wall. He cocked the rifle with sweaty fingers, dropping bullets all over the floor. He peeked toward the doorway, trying to make out a figure in the blinding white light pouring through the nearby windowpane._

 _The woman in white moved toward him with a gate of a mortal. He knew that it was Linda, crossing the room to speak to him._

 _Her eyes were stained with tears, her bridal gown stained with blood, the veil dripping sweat and fear as it stuck to her bangs._

 _She was a parody of joy, a mockery of celebration. Ash couldn’t quite stand to look at her, yet he couldn’t peel his eyes from her face. “Why won’t you leave me alone?” he howled, blinded._

 _Her voice came back to him, worn and desperate. “I can’t! You won’t let me!”_

***   
Ash woke, open-mouthed and gasping, panicking when he found himself restrained to his seat. Frantically turning toward his right, Ash met with a window, a sky filled with wispy clouds. _Where the hell am I?_ he wondered for a brief second. Then reality caught up with him, as a woman in a blue uniform harrumphed at his right. She watched him with a mixture of curiosity and frustration.

“Please return your tray to the upright position, sir.”

Ash gave her a bleary glare as he followed her request, raking a hand through his rumpled hair. A soft snort emanating from the seat beside him drew his attention back to his companion, his slumbering wife.

Sheila had konked out somewhere over the Atlantic and remained solidly asleep for the last four hours of the six-hour trip. This didn’t surprise Ash – Sheila seemed to spend a good fourth of her time sleeping nowadays, something her doctor had assured them both was perfectly normal. Presently she stirred in her sleep, a smile curving her soft lips.

Ash smiled back at her, instinctively, automatically. “Buckled up?”

She nodded, stretching and yawning. Ash stared at her lush body for a moment, base lust combining with love in his heart as their captain’s voice filled the air.

The final descent had begun.

***

Sheila’s eyes darted about as they stepped into the jetport. She felt a little surge of anger at his slight smile in her clear confusion.

“Y’keep holding on to me like that and we won’t make it to the hotel.”

She grunted as they approached the baggage claim. “D’ye not think of other things, milord?” Sex was, at the moment, the very last thing on her mind.

“Yeah, but not when you’re with me.” Ash bent down to retrieve their suitcases as they circled by them, while Sheila tried to adjust to her modern surroundings. This was the new Londontown, then – sanitized but unruly, and teeming with people. “Why don’t we hail a cab, then check in at the hotel and find someone to take us to the castle?” Ash’s sudden suggestion sounded more like a statement, and he examined her with his eyes as he hefted both cases up off the conveyer belt. “If you’re sure you’re ready.” It was early Saturday morning in England, and they had roughly forty-eight hours left to their brief trip.

Her grip on his arm grew painfully firm. “Aye,” she said briefly, and with that the decision was made.

***

The hotel was more, Ash thought to himself, like a stereotypical English bed and breakfast, located in Westmoreland just on the Scotch border. The innkeepers were, perhaps, a bit to the left of what you would expect – modern in dress and in speech, very young and sporting the latest fashion. The location and setting were, however, ancient in feeling – and rather feminine, the sheets spattered with red rose print and the carpet a thick, 70’s-esque shag done up in Pepto-Bismol pink. He immediately felt grateful as he realized they wouldn’t be spending much time there.

He watched Sheila flit around the room, unpacking (unnecessarily, he thought). Ash lounged upon the bed, carelessly reading a brochure he’d picked up in the lobby. A teapot steamed on a side table, two cups at the ready.

Ash’s stomach rolled, and it suddenly occurred to him that Sheila could be equally famished. “Do you want to eat something?”

She looked up from her suitcase, shaking her head. “We should, how doth ye put it? Nip this in the bud,” she said. “Have ye had the innsman call a car?”

Ash nodded. “They’re giving tours down there. Can you believe that?” He held out a sheaf of paper. “According to this thing, a couple of hundred thousand people walk through the place a year.”

Sheila’s expression turned from neutral to fond back to sad. “And the graveyard?”

“They let people tour that, too, though it’s not guided. Apparently, having one so fully intact…it’s rare.”

Sheila said nothing, her anxiety transmitted by the tension in her face, the tight grip of her fingers on the rim of her valise. He reached out to touch her again, without considering his actions.

Sheila squeezed the fingers he offered. “Have ye coin enough that we may bring blossoms as an offering?”

“Yeah. We’ll do that before we go on the tour.”

She relaxed visibly. “Perhaps we should eat before we leave. I am hungry as a beast penned in for fattening.” She glanced down at her stomach, which had mounded impressively in the past few months. “As I resemble one.”

Ash shook his head. “We’ve got time. Next tour’s not ‘til eleven.” He decided to change her mind about that final remark. “Plenty of time,” he said, pulling her closer.

“Ashley,” she chuckled at his expression, blushed at his kiss. “ye do not suggest that we…In broad daylight?”

“You’re my wife,” he reminded her, guiding her toward the bed, lying her across it. His left hand caressed her cheek. “Mine,” he reminded her, and she shivered at his possessive tone.

“Cold?” he teased, unbuttoning her blouse.

“Nay,” she murmured against his lips. A few long, sucking kisses made her moan. “Mayhap,” she corrected herself, as they caught their breath. “Shall ye warm me, milord?”

“As my lady wishes,” he teased in a florid tone that made her laugh.

***

Sheila squinted into the late-afternoon sunshine as she stood beside Ash. She barely heard him as he haggled with the flower monger they’d found selling his wares near the boarding stop for the tour. Thirty dollars for a small bundle of gladioli.

“Highway robbery,” Ash grunted as they boarded the tour bus. He pulled the bundle of flowers closer. “These’d better not have bugs,” he grumbled.

“They seem healthy,” Sheila noted, leaning into his shoulder to show her appreciation as they took a seat near the back of the vehicle. He smiled, put an arm around her as the bus started.

She was, admittedly, rather distracted by the sight of modern Britain as they passed through countrylike atmosphere of Westmoreland. Electric poles dotted the landscape as they rode over the tarred pathway, the occasional stone building marking out centers of government and commerce as the tour guide droned on about ‘country charm’. Ash watched laconically beside her, his fingers stroking the back of her hand, the gladioli dripping water from their pink blossoms.

At the foot of the road, surrounded by the mountainous climbs of the Scotch hillside, rose a rock-hewn structure. Sheila stared at the castle as they drew closer to it – clearly it had seen better days. How had the land around it managed to rise higher than the tallest parapet? She heard the guide explain this – something about how the topography of the land had changed through a series of earthquakes. Sheila instantly knew that it was something more sinister, and shivered in Ash’s embrace.

The small group of twenty disembarked at the castle’s drawbridge, where the guide began to explain the castle’s history. Sheila could point out the erroneous notions put forth, the false histories (she was not alive when the place was built, but it certainly had not been formed sometime in the thirteenth century), but she chose not to give herself away.

Together, they crossed the drawbridge, entered the well-restored bailey, and were guided into the great hall. Though none of the furnishings were original, and the tapestries were recreations, Sheila was swept away by a dizzying wave of nostalgia – she could nearly hear her mother’s voice admonishing her to eat every last bit of her roast fowl, her father merrily telling stories to their honored guests. Their wooden trenchers and the high board had survived – she could see the notches her father had made in the wood, to commemorate the birth of each of his children.

Ash’s hand anchored Sheila to the earth, kept her in the present. The group explored every room within the manor house quietly – each parlor and chamber had been recreated painstakingly, and Sheila could recognize the things that, by all right, belonged to her – her mother’s suite of emeralds, her own jewel box and white bone comb, a clothes press, a length of ribbon. It was a relief to enter the armory (also an embarrassment on some level, as Ash squeezed her shoulder and she felt the familiar press of his arousal against the small of her back), to explore the gunnery and chapel. She felt an even stronger wave of dizziness when they climbed the stone path to the parapet and was forced to sit on the steps for a moment to regain her equilibrium. Then there were the servant’s quarters, and the stables….

At this point they were allowed to roam the grounds at their leisure, explore the small recreation of the village outside the walls, and the cemetery a short walk away, for an hour’s time. Sheila and Ash returned to the

“Told you this was a bad idea,” he grunted, watching her in the late-summer heat with his steady glare.

“I am well,” Sheila insisted, leaning against the stone wall of the barn. She glanced within its dark confines, as if she could see back through the centuries.

“You’re thinking what I’m thinking,” Ash said. “For once.”

She smiled. “Ye found me after the feast and asked where we could go to be alone. I said that my maid often trysted with her lover in the stables, and that all were within. We climbed together to the loft…”

“You were banged up,” he remembered. “I was afraid I’d hurt you.”

“And I told thee that ye’d nothing to fear.” She flushed. “I feared hurting thee, in truth.”

He shook his head. “I’m tough. Guess I always have been, deep down.” He rubbed her lower back gently. “You’re tough as me. Took everything I had and more.”

“Ye were gentle. I had nonce to fear in thee, Ashley. Always, have had faith in thy protection.”

His hand had shifted itself to the result of that gentleness and protection, and he stroked across her stomach with his left hand. Erotic attraction had transmuted itself somehow into unspoken love. Neither of them could wrap their tongues about the sea change in their hearts.

Beneath his hand there was a sharp thumping, and a sudden shift in muscle texture – the baby rolled over, curling up, settling into sleep and breaking the spell settled over his or her parent’s hearts. Ash cleared his throat. “Better start out for the cemetery. And tell me if it’s too much for you.”

Sheila nodded her agreement as he led her toward the exit, the drawbridge, and out on the footpath to the cemetery.

***

The walk was a much shorter one than the frantic ride Ash remembered – down flat pathways and around curved boulder-marked roads. The cemetery at the end of the path seemed a much less ominous place when lit by daylight, its tombstones worn but still visible, dotted with other tourists who paused to photograph the scenery and make rubbings of the epithets.

Ash made himself a silent presence behind Sheila, firm but supportive, as she searched the rows for familiar names. She paused and genuflected, then bowed before worn stone, marked for Arthur.

He said his own private, silent goodbye to the man as Sheila prayed the length of a rosary on her knees. Then they left a stem of the gladioli behind and pursued others names.

Sheila found her mother and father together, buried at the edge of the cemetery beside her brothers. Ash rested his hand against her shoulder as she knelt before the grave, strewing the rest of the gladioli. He tried not to listen as she told her mother that she was all right, that she had come briefly home to see her and her father. Then she spoke to her brothers, and tears choked off her speech.

Ash squeezed her shoulder again. There wasn’t anything he could do for her as he battled his own fear over being there. He didn’t realize that she had taken his hand for comfort until she squeezed his fingertips.

“I am the last of the Pendragons, Ashley,” Sheila remarked suddenly.

He helped her up, giving her stomach another glance. “Not anymore.”

She chuckled softly. “Nay, I suppose I am not. Though this child shall be more Williams than Pendragon.”

“He’s half me and half you,” he said, as they walked from the grave. “I think it all works out the same, baby.”

“But he shan’t be entirely Pendragon,” Sheila points out. “Though I am not, myself. Tis quite a conundrum.”

He watched her drawn features turn haggered under the summer sunlight. “Ready to get back?”

Gratefulness entered her tone as they moved toward the bus. “Aye.”

***

In three hours time they were back at the inn, eating bowls of hot beef stew and brown bread with fresh butter ravenously. The innkeeper praised their appetites as she shoveled more into their bowls – Sheila had six, and Ash eight, and between them they consumed a full loaf of fresh bread. They really had been hungry, Sheila mused to herself as they were served mugs of fresh coffee and heaping servings of apple crumble.

After the meal came the entertainment, with all of the guests gathered around a hearth fire and the innkeeper’s husband strummed out a folk tune on his lyre. One that was older than Sheila, and one she knew all of the words to. Merriment seized her violently, and she found herself singing loudly. She never realized that the entire room had turned tomb-quiet as she sang out her song. Or that the majority of the applause was for her.

“Do you play, ma’am?” he asked, offering her the instrument. Sheila had, in fact, learned how to play on a lute in her childhood. The occasional key transition sent a jangle of sound through the air, but she found herself apt enough to give the rest of the patrons quite a show, playing ‘Tristian and Isolde’ for the assembled with easy grace. She was aware of Ash’s stare, of him watching her across the room, staring at her as if he didn’t know who she was, who the music had transformed her into.

When the song ended, he pulled her to her feet. “Didn’t know you could do that.”

“Twas one of the skills I learned at court.” Her explanation is brief but kind.

“You need your rest,” he declared, making their apologies, guiding her toward the staircase. She can feel his blood race, heated, beneath his skin.

“I doubt we shall sleep, milord.” They were out of the sight of others now, up the stairs, before their room. Ash turned the lock and ushered them inside.

“It’s early,” he pointed out. “We will…” he closed the door tightly behind them. “Later.”

***

Much later, as it turned out. She rested her head upon his chest, simply listening to the rapid throb of his heartbeat.

“Y’okay?” Ash wondered.

She nodded, smiling into his chest hair. “I believe the London air suits ye.”

He laughed. “Does it suit you?”

She thought upon it. “Tis still a lovely place, yet…it ‘tisn’t home. Not the way Dearborn is.”

Ash’s expression remained neutral. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been here. Maybe…”

“I shall not change my mind,” Sheila said.

He exhaled. Neither of them realized he’d been holding his breath, or had considered that she might still consider this place her home.

“Why would I wish to return, m’love? When I dwelled as a child within those walls, I dreamed of a knight to rescue me from the mediocrity of my life. And that is who ye’re, darling.”

He waited, filled with tension, for her to say again that she loved him, knowing she’d want a response, to afraid to give it.

It took him a moment to realize that she had fallen asleep.

Relief filled him before he slept. Some part of Ash knew that he should be ashamed of this. But he could not allow himself to be.


	12. Pushing the Needle Too Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ash's dreams take a toll on his psyche.

_"We've all been removed in one way or another...we don't know our families, we don't need our brothers...we're pushing the needle too far..."_ \- Amy Ray, Pushing The Needle Too Far

***

 

“….So then we pulled out my woody and cruised the wavelets. It wasn’t as Oh man, king, it was SO rad!” Louie frowned as he glanced over at Ash. “King?”

Somewhere in the middle of Louie’s speech, Ash’s gaze had drifted off. Now his hand shot across the space between them and pressed firmly into Louie’s stomach. “Do you hear that?”

Louie frowned, tilting his shaggy head. A smile spread across his face. “Aww, that’s just the new Del Amitri album. They’ve been playing it all week in music.”

“Not that crap,” Ash said. “It’s a scratching sound…like nails going across chalkboard.” He shuddered.

“Sounds more like the new Jodi Whatley…”

Ash gave him a foul glare. “Only heard it a couple of times in my life – and both of those ended with me drenched in blood.”

Louie’s eyes bugged out, and he grabbed Ash by the shoulder. “I’ll get the garlic, you get the torches!”

Ash stared at him. “That’s for vampires, dumbass.”

“Exqueeze me,” Louie remarked. “This is my first ever deadite battle.”

“It can’t be them,” Ash growled. “I fixed that….or I think I did.” He stared out into space, walleyed and exhausted.

Louie studied him closely while he returned to the pile of decorations before him. “You really don’t look too good, king.”

Ash made a face. “Thanks, kid.”

“Y’look really tired,” Louie remarked, as they wound the pencil printed raffia around the top shelf. “I thought parents weren’t supposed to start losing sleep ‘til the baby’s born.”

Ash grunted. “It’s not the baby,” he said flatly. Louie carefully avoided saying anything more, so it was Ash who spoke next. “Congrats on…whatever the hell’s going on with Joy.”

Louie grinned. “Thanks, king. She’s totes wicked. Dunno if she’ll take me out again tho.” A pause. “Do you need to talk about what’s keeping you up nights?”

“I’m fine,” Ash grunted.

“Okay, then.” He tossed over his shoulder, “by the way, d’you think the baby’d like a teddy bear with a Metallica shirt?”

Ash’s groan could have raised the dead.

****

Sheila watched Ash as he bent over the dip tray. She petted his back and felt muscle turn to steel under her touch. “Do ye need a nap, love?”

“Nah,” Ash grumbled. He glanced around the apartment, at the utter pinkness of the table spread and decorations lighting the apartment. “It looks like Miss Piggy exploded in here.”

She smiled. “The pink ones were half-off at the S-Mart; I’m quite sure ye reckoned that.”

He shook his head. “It’s been a blur of markdowns since August, babe.” They’re at the foot of summer now, and it’s nearly September. He stares at Sheila’s burgeoning stomach with clear trepidation.

“Joy suggested we get yellow. She said ‘twas sexist to pick pink. ‘Tis a color I adore, what is so sexist about that?”

Ash shrugged, jamming a chip into the bowl of California dip Joy had made. The party had thinned out, and now it was only the four of them – double dipping was definitely allowed. “Joy sees sexism in her breakfast,” Ash said.

“Tush,” remarked Sheila, patting his hand. “All is truly well, milord?”

“Yeah,” Ash said. He snorted as Louie challenged Joy to a diapering contest for the last piece of cake. “You’re lucky you’re not getting a concert from Splattergor as a present,” he added.

Sheila smiled. “I would not have complained.” She clapped her palms, ending the final pin-the-diaper-on-the-balloon with a loud pop and a whine from Louie. “Tis time for the presents!”

Ash helped her into his easy chair, handing her a large box festively wrapped in pages of Sunday funnies. “That’s mine!” Louie said, his mouth filled with lemon cake.

“I might have guessed; such ingenious wrappings,” Sheila flattered. Louie flushed and smiled, leaning eagerly forward on the sofa. Sheila tore open its colorful exterior, pulling out….

“What…a brightly festooned bear,” Sheila offered.

“I drew the tattoos myself!” piped Louie. “See, this one says ‘rust never sleeps’, like the one I’ve got on my...”

“Thanks, Lou,” Ash snorted. “I’ll hide it in the closet.” Ash growled under his breath. “At the bottom.”

“Dinna listen to him. ‘Tis a lovely present.” She smiled. “This one is from Joy!”

She smiled. “I found it in an antique shop on Washington. And it’s unisex,” she said, giving Ash a sharp look, which earned her a roll of the eyes. Sheila brought the present to light.

“A music box! Oh Joy, how lovely!” It was clearly an old-fashioned, antiqued machine, with brown lacquer and small inlaid notes made of ancient wood. She smiled at Ash. “We shall soothe the child to sleep every night with this.”

“Yeah,” Ash snorted. “Anything’s better than me singing to him. Why don’t you wind it up, babe?”

Sheila nodded, turning key. Horror flooded Ash as the first note sounded. _That song. That song…Hisfingersonthekeysthepianoplayingbyitself….…_

“I have not heard such music before. What is it from?” Sheila asked.

“I think they’re just standards,” Joy said. “I don’t know what it’s called. ‘Night Dance?’”

Ash had broken into a cold sweat. The music…just like the sort that accompanied Linda in his dream. The music taunted Ash, to him every note sounding like _“We’re gonna get you we’re gonna get you we’re gonna get you…”_

He let out a shriek as something with red hair skirted by his line of vision. He never would figure out what it was that had so disturbed him, but it was enough to spur Ash into action.

All conversation died away when Ash ripped the box out of her hands and marched out of the apartment, down to the alley. He could hear Sheila calling his name but he had outpaced her, dumping it into a garbage can. Intending to burn it, Ash could not get it to catch flame with his old pocket lighter, and settled for smashing it into the ground.

 _Gotta make it stop…make it stop…._

 

Again and again….

“ASHLEY.” Sheila had him by the shoulder.

“DON’T!” he cried out. “They’ll come after you.” He reacted instinctively, pushing her away, pushing her hard.

He heard her cry as he landed with a thud on the ground.

Everything seemed to freeze. Joy and Louie stood, open-mouthed, across the street. Sheila sat at his feet, her eyes clouded with tears, staring up at him.

“It was going to get her,” he said, his voice taking on a pitch of hysteria he hadn’t used in a year. “Don’t you see? It wanted her….it was gonna get her…”

Joy rushed into the fray. “Come on, Sheila – you can stay with me.”

Sheila stared at him, wide-eyed, confused. “He struck me,” she murmured, in utter disbelief.

“Sheila!” he rushed after her, but Joy’s icy glare pinned him to the ground. “SHEILA!” he bellowed, but could not call her back to him this time. He stood by, numbed by his own horror, as he watched his wife and child run away.

***

A month passed by – for Ash, conducted in an alcoholic haze. Joy barred any contact he might have initiated with Sheila, and his friends looked down their noses at him, appalled that he would strike his wife. He was too deeply haunted to tell them his nightmares deprived him of sleep. He did nothing but work and drink, and sleep through fitful drunken stupors.

Only Louie remained steadfast. He tried to make sure Ash kept himself fed, and got safely home every night. Ash ignored or disparaged his attempts at helping.

In the lonely hours near dawn, almost eight months to the day of the cabin trip, Ash called his father, getting their machine. “Hey dad,” he laughed. “You were right. She’s gone. But I’m not running. No, I’m gonna go do it again. Until I get it right. If I don’t come back…take care of them both.” It hurt like hell for Ash to make such a request of the man he loathed, but he forced himself to do it. He knew Sheila would never move in with his dysfunctional family, and that his father would be honor bound to give them financial help.

He bought two quarts of rum and headed to the S-Mart. Louie had just gotten off his shift, his expression showing concern as he approached Ash. “You need anything, king?”

“A favor,” he smirked. “I need a lift.”

“Where?”

“To Tennessee,” he smirked. “You and me’re going on a little road trip…” he reached behind him, unholstered his rifle, loaded the barrel, and clicked it in place. “To deadite ground zero.”

And Louie did the only thing he could do. He nodded, and agreed. “Let’s roll, king.”


	13. Blood and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A climax is reached.

“I am intense, I am in need, I am in pain, I am in love” – Amy Ray, Blood and Fire

***

Louie nervously eyed Ash as they took a right, exiting the interstate. Ash, oblivious to his concerns, swallowed another mouthful of rum, sung louder to the Metallica song playing over the Chicken Coop’s tinny sound system.

“This’s a pretty good track,” Ash remarked, staring out the window. “What’s it called?”

“Wherever I May Roam,” said Louie.

“S’not bad.” Ash’s suddenly lax attitude alarmed Louie, who was used to his friend being tense. “Y’got a nice ride. I like the…tint on the windows…”

“It’s a Met ride, man – it has to be none blacker than black,” Louie said. “I hand-tinted the passenger windows with house paint, betcha can’t tell!” Ash grunted, leaning his head against the window. “If you gotta blow chunks, here’s a screw driver to crank the window down.”

“M’fine,” Ash muttered. “Keep going straight at the light, then turn off onto the dirt road.”

Louie followed Ash’s request, Taking the car through pitch-dark copse of trees and through winding mountain roads, he turned his brights on, singing along to the radio. Ash joined in as they grew closer to the iron bridge spanning Bronson Canyon, his voice unintentionally mournful as they passed over the brand new structure.

“Guess the town finally poneyed up,” Ash muttered, the tires clacking over fresh iron slats. The road narrowed to a single dirt path, and Ash ordered him to follow it down to the bottom. Once they go there, Louie put the car in gear and got out.

“So…this’s the place, uh?” He looked around at the desolate surroundings, the wrecked remains of the cabin, and shuddered as a chill ran through his bones.

“Yep,” Ash said, swaggering his way out of the car, still carrying the half-full jug of rum. “Home sweet shitpile,” he said, glaring down the building. Ash jerked his head. “Take the car, go get yourself a drink.’ He smirked. “We’ve got some unfinished business.”

Louie shook his head. “I don’t think I should, king.” Ash’s gaze pierced him fiercely. “I’ll walk. The keys’re in the ignition, in case you need ‘em.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he smirked as Louie walked away. To himself, Ash said, “don’t need to run, this time.”

***

He trespassed on the demonic ground without taking another moment to think about it, pounding down the unhinged door and glancing into the ruined interior of the cabin. Crime scene tape and a chalk outline where Annie’s body had fallen, and spatters of blood dotted the floor; the gaping hole where the manifested evil had pushed through a window had been awkwardly boarded over, allowing silver threads of moonlight to splash across the floor and into Ash’s bleary eyes.

“We meet again, y’bastard,” Ash said to the walls. “Missed me much?” Silence greeted him. “Aww, is that any way to welcome a conquering hero?” He started pouring the jug of rum across the floor, walking from room to room. “Y’know, I could’ve been king. And if I was, I would’ve jumped back through that time whorl…thing. With an army…” He took out a book of matches and began to peel the book open. “…and a bunch of torches.” Ash chuckled as he struck the matches against the flint. “Thought you had me, didn’t you? Thought you could have my mind and my body. I gave you my hand and a little bit of my sanity, but you ain’t getting the rest. Got that?” he looked around at the dark walls and shouted it. “GOT THAT?”

But nothing responded – not the wind or the moose’s head on the wall, or the overturned shelves. Ash struck each match against the flint, but none refused to light. “Damn you!” he said. “Damn you…” he murmured, sinking dizzily to the bed, where the overnight case he’d brought to the cabin still lay.

“Damn it all,” he groaned, passing out.

***

 _It was pouring rain. He could feel it on his skin, under his eyes._

 _What had he been thinking, coming back here? What had he hoped to accomplish by burning the place down? It was over, it seemed, everywhere but within his tortured mind._

 _He smelled her before she approached him, her white dress filling his line of vision, floating about her like a cape. Ash cowered backward, against the wall of the cabin, squeezing his eyes shut._

 _“I won’t let you,” he said._

 _“Oh, Ash.” She caressed his face. “It’s not me. They’re not me.”_

 _“I know,” he murmured. He buried his face in her skirt, inhaling her perfume. “I know.”_

 _“You’ve got to learn how to give to someone. That’s the only way out of the maze.” She tilted his face up until he could look her right in the eyes. Linda looked down at him solemnly. “The next time it rains, that’s me saying goodbye.”_

 _She backed away, walking into the mist. “Linda?” Ash asked._

 _She shook her head. “You don’t have to say it, Ash.”_

 _He stood up. “I love you.”_

 _She smiled sadly, backing into the mist. “But now, you love her more.”_

A cool hand caressed his forehead, and Ash shot up in the bed, his eyes scanning the dimly-lit room. He recognized the rounded form sitting beside him; it belonged to Sheila. He started at her round stomach in shock; she seemed read to deliver already. Had it been only a month since he’d seen her?

“How did you…”

She reached for the basin beside his bed and wrung out the green facecloth she’d apparently been soaking in it. “Joy and I arrived in tandem. Louie cancelled their meeting, and thus she decided that something must be amiss.” She eyed him. “I see that it is.”

Ash groaned, turning his head against the pillow. “You shouldn’t be here. I can’t protect you.”

Sheila stood up in the lamplight – the prominence of her stomach made Ash’s heart turn over. “I am compelled to thee, milord. No matter the injury we do one another. I wish I could purge it from myself, but I cannot. I am compelled to soothe thee.” Her eyes were dark and sharp. “Whether I wish it or no.”

Ashamed of himself, Ash turned toward the pillows, allowing the darkness to absorb him once again.

***

In the morning, his head was a groggy mess, but he forced himself to get out of the makeshift bed. Following the scent of freshly-brewed coffee, he found Sheila sitting on the porch, in the swing, her eyes scanning the trees that surrounded them.

“D’you know where Louie and Joy are?” he muttered.

“I hath nay seen either of them,” Sheila said crisply, drinking from the cup.

“Sheila…” he began. Thunder boomed in the distance. She stared at the hand he’d pressed to her arm.

“Aye?”

“I…” he cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to hurt you that day.”

“I did not believe that ye did.” So crisp, so cool, so distant – the chill cut through him.

“Been having a lot of…problems, you could say.” He said. “Sheila, damn it, I…” He blinked in amazement as a bolt of lightning promptly struck a nearby tree.

Everything else seemed to happen in slow-motion; the tree caught fire, catching the trees near it ablaze. One of the logs split and tumbled onto the cabin’s roof, catching the tarred surface ablaze instantly. Panic filtered through Ash, along with adrenalin; he and Sheila were surrounded by a wall of flame.

She jumped up and away from the flaming branches. “Ashley!” Her fingers clutched his upper arm.

He grabbed her hand, his eyes on the still-clear pathway leading to the roadway. “RUN!”

She held his fingers as they cut across the flaming brush. Sheila ran like a young doe (albeit a pregnant young doe), skirts gathered up in her right hand.

He managed to pull her back from the burning log that tumbled into the path, barring their escape. Another fell behind them, locking them in place.

Something above them crackled ominously. Ash followed his protective instincts and threw Sheila to the ground.

He covered her with his body.

 _If one of us has to die,_ he thought, _let it be me._

***

It was hot. Intensely hot, reminding him of the flames of hell and the singing of his skin. He burrowed into the ground, hoping for a quick release, hoping Sheila would survive.

Then he felt a drop of rain, another, a dozen. The skies opened up, drenching his skin, exhausting the fire. Wide-eyed, he slowly raised his head and looked around them. The fire had cut a huge swath of destruction, turning multiple trees by the cabin to cinders but leaving most of the forest untouched, as if it had been a controlled burn. The Chicken Coop sat, miraculously unscathed, but the cabin had been burnt to cinders, only the brick fireplace still standing.

He tilted back his head, allowing the water to bathe his burning eyes.

 _Bye, Linda._

 _Stay classy._

 _I owe you one, kid._

He jumped as the cabin’s stone chimney crashed to the ground, crushing The Chicken Coop beneath it. Ash raked a hand through his hair, looking down to Sheila, reading to remark upon their luck.

But she lay unconscious beneath him.

“Sheila?” he asked, picking her up in his arms. “Sheila?!” he shook her slightly. Her head hung limply against his arm, her breathing coming weak and slow.

“Baby,” he said, “you can’t quit on me now. See, I need someone to go to Louie’s gigs with. No one else can put up with that Splattergor crap the way you can. I need someone to make my life bearable, ‘cause coming home to an empty house after working my shitty job all day doesn’t cut it. I need to eat your forty alarm chili and feel your hands on my head, making me drink more water. I need to teach you about baseball and take you to a Tigers game. I need to put our baby in your arms and hold you both.” His voice turned demanding. “You can’t leave me because I love you.” He buried his face in her hair and allowed his eyes to well up. “I love you, damn it.”

***

She felt wet. Her hair was soaked, and her dress was wet. The ground was cold beneath her back, but something warm loomed over her, two strong arms holding her chest against something warm.

That was when she heard his voice. “…come back, I love you, come back…”

She raised her hand and gently ran it through his hair. With a gasp, he raised his head, relief in his features.

“Art crying,” she observed.

He allowed himself to breathe for a minute or two. “Nah. I’ve got a chili pepper stuck in my throat.” She smiled, stroking the side of his face as he buried his own in her neck. “I love you,” he repeated himself.

“Say it again, milord.”

He looked up. “How many different ways would you like me to say it?” he smirked. “I love you, baby. I love you, Sheila. I love you, Sheila Williams.” He looked her dead in the eye. “I love you.”

She threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Ashley!”

The sound of a glass bottle clinking to the ground sent them both scrambling to their feet, Ash unholstering his gun, Sheila directly behind him, a firm and formidable consort.

“Oh my God!” But it was Louie who stood, open-mouthed, dropping the McDonalds breakfast sandwich onto the ground before rushing past Sheila and Ash. “My car!! Nooooo not the Chicken Coup.”

Ash rolled his eyes. “Nice to see you, too, numb nuts.”

“Aww, man her radials were cherry!” he whined, staring at the crushed vehicle. Sheila went to comfort the sniffling man.

“Relax, Joy’ll drive us back.”

“Oh, she will?” Ash winced as he heard the woman’s voice, turning back around to face her.

“Uh, hey Joy…” The blow she gave to him was lightening-quick and managed to double Ash over. “OW DAMN IT!”

Joy smirked down at him. “You’re right, there is something to be said for violence.”

“Says the lady who’s not close to barfing up a lung,” moaned Ash.

“Simmer down.” Joy said airily, offering him a hand.

“How did you find out where we were, anyway?” Ash asked, rubbing his belly, accepting the hand up.

“Your father called, believe it or don’t.” Ash tilted his head. “He cares about you, Ash. He just wants you to straighten up and fly right.”

Ash smirked. “Don’t think that’ll happen.”

She shrugged. “You seem pretty straight-flying, at least to me. In spite of your cowardliness…”

“You can say that again, sister.” He watched Sheila pat Louie’s shoulder. “I have a feeling everything’s gonna be smooth sailing from here on out, tho.”

***

 **One Month Later**

It was a shipwreck, but he rode it out right to the end.

Not that Sheila would have had it any other way. She clung to his hand until her nails broke, emitting the occasional savage shriek of pain, demanding he stay there and support her through the labor. And he did so, occasionally emitting a demand for painkillers for his wife.

At last, she began pushing, and Ash had something constructive he could do. At some point they asked if he wanted to feel the baby’s head and he told the nurse to fuck off, which effectively shut him out of the rest of the birthing process.

Two days after the process had begun (when her water broke all over aisle five during his lunch break), their child was delivered screaming into the world on Halloween morning.

The nurses cooed cloying words to a panting, sweaty Sheila,

Doctor Denoff‘s voice rose above the din. “It’s a girl!”

They both stared blankly back. “A girl?” Ash repeated in utter amazement.

The doctor held up the squalling infant. “Looks like it to me. What do you want to call her, daddy?”

Ash shook his head, utterly confused. “He thought ‘twas a boy,” Sheila chortled, sitting up in the bed. The lay the baby upon Sheila’s stomach, where she looked up, bewildered, at her parents.

“A girl,” Sheila smiled. “Can ye reckon it?”

“No,” Ash admitted in a low voice. “She’s beautiful.”

“Aye,” she smiled. The nurse scooped up the baby, to better wash and weigh her. “They do need more than baby Williams for the records, milord.” Ash thought for a long minute.

"What do you want to call her?"

"Ashley." He glanced over his shoulder to see if Sheila was calling him, but her eyes glimmered in delight.

"Oh no," he said flatly.

"A child should be named for the father," Sheila said wisely.

"Not a daughter. I got enough shit as a kid."

An endless minute. “We could call her Tori.” She smiled, knowing that her joking reference to the pine forests of her home would go right over his head.

“As in Spelling? Makes me think of silicone funbags,” Ash shuddered. “How about Laura?”

“Nay,” she shook her head. It seemed to come to her abruptly. “Elizabeth Miranda.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling at last. “My grandmother’s gonna love you forever.”

“Tis only fair. We shall do the same,” Sheila said, with a yawn.

Ash stared down at his daughter as they bathed her wailing form, diapered her, weighed her (Eight and a half pounds, sixteen inches). Then he was holding her, looking down into her flower-sweet features, only able to see his wife in the girl. And then he did what he promised himself he would do. He took the baby and carried her to his wife.

And he took them both into his arms.


	14. All The Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years later, a realization is made.

“At least we laugh about it now, how we escaped alive. It’s remarkable, the mess we make and what we can survive.” – Emily Saliers, All The Way

***  
 **Nineteen Years Later  
Winston-Salem, North Carolina**  
***

 _“Hi, you’ve reached the Williams family. We’re probably packing up Liz’s room right now, so we can’t come to the phone. If you’re desperate, try my cell – but I probably won’t be able to answer, anyway because no one volunteered to help me out last week, thanks so damn much. So hang up now or leave a message. S’your dime.”_

*BEEP*

“KING! Just lettin’ you know our flight’s coming in at nine, bro – we’re driving ourselves so we should be there for dinner. We’ve got matchin’ tans, new boards and some WICKED coconut logs, like AMAZING coconut logs, man! Oh, Joy says yo to the babettes, too! Bye!!”

*BEEP*

“…I don’t know why I ATTEMPT to scold you, Ashley. You’re a GROWN MAN, and your messages should be SOPHISTICATED. I’m bringing a charlotte russe. See you at six!”

*BEEP*

“Oh, dude, LISTEN to this jam……..ISN’T IT WICKED? KURT IS ONNNN TONIGHT BRO!!!”

*BEEP*

“Daddy? Daddy? Daaad-y? I love you, hee heee!”

*BEEP BEEP BEEP*

Ash stabbed his finger on the erase button for the final time as he took a long sip of his late afternoon coffee. Behind him, he could hear Sheila pacing the floor with the baby, to the tune of one of his old Raffi records (“Bananaphone”). Little Ash babbled nonsense from his crib, waiting for dinner, crying occasionally when his little sister borrowed one of his toys, while Gram Betty and Mandy Klein dangled toys and dandled them both.

She could take care of the younger ones; right now, he wanted to spend time with his eldest, who occupied the porch in desperate pursuit of that odd thing called ‘alone time’.

Ash pushed through the screen door. Baby Liz stared at the suburban street that ringed the beachfront property Ash had bought years before, when the S-Mart transferred him to North Carolina, where he had eventually become head of housewares, a middle-manager, and finally a franchise head. He lowered a cup of milky coffee into her hands and sat down beside her.

“Here,” he said playfully, tossing her a scrap of cloth. “Something to remember your old man by.”

She caught it with the same ease that had made her captain of her little league team three years running, laughing when she noticed what it was – one of the surplus tee-shirts from his brief, long-ago brush with fame. _“Gracias,”_ she uttered, in a flawless Spanish accent, _“I' uso del ll él para una manta de caballo.”_

He smirked at her. “You’ve heard that story too many times, kid.”

She shrugged. “Only as many as you were willing to tell it. Which was, like, every day.”

Ash snorted, brushing his metal hand through his graying hair. “Had to keep you kids quiet somehow.” He stared at her speculatively for a very long time, until she self-consciously began to twirl her auburn hair, a gesture that was so much her mother’s that it made Ash wince.

She took a long drink. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” Ash said, without conviction.

“Daddy, it’s just a year in Madrid. It’s the only way I’ll be able to polish up my language skills.” She’d been shooting for a major position at an embassy, or a professorship at a college, and being able to speak Spanish in its native habitat with success was an important skill for her to master.

Ash murmured his agreement. “Email every day, got it?” he asked. “Your mom worries.”

She smirked, his own smirk, complete with dimples indenting each cheek. “Sure. Mom.”

“Yeah, mom. Don’t talk back to me,” he growled.

But Liz just smirked. “If you’re gonna hang out here,” she said, putting down the mug and picking up her discarded sketchbook, “keep out of my key light.”

Ash peeked over her shoulder as she opened the sketchbook and began to draw. She really was a very good little artist – she had considered going to an art college instead of majoring in Spanish, but had ultimately taken after her mother and opted for the sensible thing. It really was a very detailed little illustration, too. She knew how to shade and shadow, as well. It looked pretty familiar, actually. Very, hauntingly familiar…

His fingers went numb and the coffee cup tumbled to the pavement as fifteen years of denial were peeled a away in one fell swoop.

“Dad? DAD?” He felt Liz shaking him, knew she thought he’d gone into one of the fuge states that had plagued him for years.

He couldn’t really hear her.

 _Hi, Cheryl._

You weren’t fucking around when you said I’d see you sooner than I thought…

He snapped himself out of it. Looking into Liz’s terrified eyes, he knew she didn’t know. What use would it be to panic her?

“It’s okay,” he said, but Sheila had already peered outside, little Ash in her arms.

“Ashley. Can ye hear me?” Her voice was utterly even and calm.

“I’m okay.” He waved to little Ash, getting a giggle from his son.

“Dada dada,” babbled little Ash. Sheila had already placed her hand on Ash’s shoulder, squeezing it gently, when a horn blasted its way up the street.

Liz ran up the drive to greet Louie and help a very pregnant Joy out of the car. Sheila ran to greet her friend and co-partner, while Ash slapped Louie on the back. “Hey, how was the trip?”

“Dude, the waves, man – one broke right over my head while Joy was paddling us.”

“You let her paddle?” Ash remarked, raising a brow.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Joy said. “If I let him do it, he’d probably tip the canoe.”

Ash wasn’t surprised that Joy was in control of her and Louie’s…situation. They had been dating semi-officially for years now, and even though they were living together and about to have a child there seemed to be only the vaguest hope of a marriage between them, something Louie dealt with through great equanimity.

Ash had reacted with equal equanimity when Louie and Joy had shown up a year after his transfer; Louie had opened up his own board shop out by the coast, while Joy and Sheila had teamed up to create their own design business.

Louie was going on and on about the waves at Oahu to Liz as they headed back inside the house. In the kitchen, Gram Betty dipped up big bowls of soup and dished patty pans of pabulum for the babies – Ash habitually pulled out Sheila’s chair and settled down beside her, near the head of the table.

He looked down at the steaming bowl before him. “Five-alarm chili,” he noted, with mock-thoughtfulness.

“It shall not make ye cry this time,” Sheila insisted playfully. Ash dipped his spoon and looked around him, at the family that he’d gathered. Across the table, Joy spoke of the one family member who wasn’t with them, Ash’s eldest son, Jake, who was off on a ski trip with his first serious girlfriend.

“I swear,” Joy remarked. “He acts as if that girl fell out of the sky for him.”

Ash and Sheila met, eye-to-eye, and shared a laugh.

“What’s so funny about that?” Joy wondered.

Ash shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, taking his wife’s hand under the table.

“We werenay laughing at thee, Joy,” Sheila insisted.

“I know laughter when I hear it,” she insisted.

“We weren’t. It was a cough.”

“A cough?”

“Yeah, a cough.” He lifted a glass to his lips and winked at his wife. “I’ve got a little bit of chili pepper stuck in my throat.”

THE END


End file.
